Nightmare
by Nisus
Summary: After Void, the crew faces a world of pain. A sinister moon, two Operatives, a distorted voice and a shadowy government program. Can Mal and the others swing clear of the wreckage and beat the overwhelming odds facing them? Contains mild AvP.
1. Prologue

_First of all, this story is the next phase of an arc that started with Void, so it's suggested that you read that first, as this more or less directly continues the tale._

_In Void, I named each chapter with a one word summary and, as an experiment, included a segment from the next chapter as a 'Next on Void' section. I'm not doing that for this phase; instead there will be a (slightly) more complicated system of chapters. This is a longer story, and I wanted to write it accordingly, with a set out structure. Void had 12 chapters because that's all the story stretched to, and it seemed appropriately biblical with the crew facing their Judgements. With this tale there are 'days' and 'chapters'. Each chapter will belong to a 'day', relative to the last day of Void that spanned the last 6 chapters, 'Day Zero' being the same day as that. It helps to keep track of the time, the need for which will become obvious shortly. So without further ado…the prologue…_

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Suffocation. Soft, pulsating suffocation. Occasionally there were moments of lucidity where the outside world started to fade through the drowsy semi-consciousness, but for the most part there was silence.

But in those brief, almost alert moments, she heard things. The voices of her friends. Explosions. Cries of pain. Screams that belonged in nightmares. But mostly, she felt the thing reaching down into her, growing, and perhaps those moments were only brief because the mind can only take so much horror; there reaches a point where it simply closes itself away, where the horrible things can no longer do it any harm.

And for a time, that was all she knew. 'Knew' is maybe the wrong word to use, because it implies a certain level of awareness that involves the accumulation and storage of information, but with Kaylee there was none of that. She simply was, lost in a sea of being, somewhere between being alive and being dead.

But then the thing pressing against her fell away from her, and she no longer suffocated because of its presence. She felt the world coming back to her, but it was sharply removed from her grasp by a wave of cold.

After that, she knew nothing.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"_Is she awake?"_

"_Not yet. It takes time to come out of the coma. Give her a few minutes."_

"_All right. Doctor knows best."_

The voices were tantalisingly close, and almost familiar. She frowned ever so slightly, exercising weak and stiffened muscles to try and stir from the rest she found herself rousing from. Then, a hand on her shoulder.

"_Be careful, not too fast."_

"_She's a big girl now, Doc. She can take care of herself."_

"_I'm well aware of what she's capable of."_

"_Didn't mean no disrespect, I just…"_

"…_I know. It's strange seeing her after so long."_

_"…That it is."_

She tried to open her eyes, but light shone into her retina, temporarily blinding her. The voices were quick to respond.

"_Dim the lights,"_ but the harsh illumination was being dimmed before the voice had finished speaking. She found she could open her eyes now, although the resident burn stayed on her vision, casting an orange spot on everything she saw.

She blinked repeatedly, for even the dimmed light was almost painful to endure. Eventually she found herself becoming conditioned to it, and that the more she could see, the more her body responded to her commands. Her character and memories started to flood back onto the blank slate her mind had become, and she gasped as it threatened to overwhelm her.

The hand touched her shoulder again. It was a reassuring strength that gripped her.

"Kaylee. It's going to be all right."

Her eyes finally focussed on what was in front of her and as her vision floated back into clarity, she beheld Simon sitting beside her, his eyes open wide and a small smile playing on the edge of his lips. She frowned, having more success with the expression this time.

"…Simon?" she asked, but then coughed. Her mouth felt like a sewer. A glass of water was offered to her, and she took it eagerly. The hand that had previously reassured her held the base still, as to control her consumption.

"Small sips," advised Simon, and she was glad to have followed his advice. She coughed and spluttered into the glass, but soldiered on with the endeavour. Ultimately she was rewarded when she had drunk the whole glass and thirstily looked for a second. Simon gave a short snort of amusement and set the empty glass back onto the bedside table.

A bed. She was on a bed. Suddenly she looked around her and saw her surroundings for the first time.

A small, dark room that contained nothing but the bare essentials. A bed. A stool. A small port that revealed a view of…the stars. They were in space.

There was a chuckle from the doorway. "It's like watchin' a kitten. Everything's new to you again, ain't it?"

"Cap'n?" she asked, and Mal nodded to her greeting. "Where are we?"

"We're on a space station," replied Simon, shooting a look at Mal. "But that's not important right now. How do you feel?"

"Like I've been hit by a mule."

Simon almost smiled again. "What do you remember?"

Kaylee frowned – an expression she was quickly becoming adept at. "Not much…I remember bein' in the shuttle over that moon…and then the Alliance picked us up. After that it gets a bit blurry."

"How?"

"…Smothering. That's all I remember." The memory was genuinely gone. In the same way a person forgets a dream after they have woken up, Kaylee's memories had faded after she awoke in this strange room, replaced only by a vague feeling. She looked over to Mal, remembering something.

"Serenity – what happened to Serenity?"

A dark expression washed over Mal's face, but it was gone almost as soon as she noticed it, replaced by a warm affability that Kaylee now knew was being forced.

"She, uh…we lost her. She sank down under the ocean of that moon and then the Alliance threw a few depth charges down after her. She's gone." Said so bluntly, yet with such a repressed emotion that it hit her like a brick wall.

She cried for a while then, Simon hugging her gently. The ship that was her pride and joy was gone…the ship that had offered her a refuge while she sought out her destiny among the stars. Her safe place. But after a while the grief ebbed away, replaced by more alarming emotions as she recalled the events prior to the one that caused the destruction of the ship.

"What about everyone else?" she said, realising she had taken for granted that they would be okay. "What about that thing on the ship, the Night Stalker? Where are we?"

Simon held up his hands as if that would stem the flow of questions emerging from her mouth, but she quietened down more out of a selfish need to know the answers, not because he had asked her to.

"We'll explain everything. I promise. I just…uh…I need to explain something else to you first."

The serious note in his voice made her pay rapt attention to him. Suddenly she noticed his eyes; they were worn with a deep-seated weariness, coupled with a burden that he had yet to allude to. Both Mal and Simon had painful looking bruises on the parts of their bodies she could see, and Simon's lip was split.

"Since the time on the moon…Kaylee, you've been away for over a month."

A month? That was ridiculous. It seemed like five minutes ago. She snorted, shaking her head. Smiling, she turned to Mal, but he just stonily gazed back at her.

"A month?"

Simon nodded, emotion starting to play at his voice. He clutched at her hand with his own. "Uh…I don't know how much you remember about when the Alliance took you…I mean, I know you said you don't remember, but…there's something that I need to tell you that isn't good news…and I don't know exactly how to say it, but…"

"Simon! Just say it!" she exclaimed sharply, anxiety building with his every word. But he just gazed at her helplessly.

"There's one of them inside of you," said Mal. His eyes shielded Kaylee from the maelstrom of emotion raging beneath the surface, and though she knew it was there she prayed thanks that he had done so, because she knew that to look into it would drive her insane.

In the long silence that stretched afterwards, many thoughts ran through Kaylee's mind. But ultimately, the one that mattered most slipped through her lips and out into the air.

"No…" she whispered. It was coming back to her now. The smug Operative. The white room. The assembled scientists. And finally, the grimy cell with the grated deck. The one with the small circular hatch built into the floor.

"No!" she screamed. She could feel it now, the almost imperceptible movement irregular to her breathing pattern. Lurking between her lungs, and next to her heart. Waiting to burst through in a grisly display of gore in an insult to the natural order of things.

"We can get it out!" said Simon, and the strength behind his words stopped Kaylee's grief in its tracks. She looked into his eyes and saw a steely resolve that she had previously not thought him capable of. Between him and the Captain, her sanity kept itself in check and she kept the terrible knowledge at bay long enough for him to explain what he had just said.

"There's a procedure we can perform. That I can perform. I'll be the one doing it," he said, his thoughts obviously scattered. "The thing is…it's never been done before. There's a chemical that we…uh, _found_ that might heal you. But I have no idea what it will do to you if I put it inside of you. That's why we woke you up, to ask your consent."

Kaylee's eyes stung again, but for another reason. "So…you woke me up just to put me back asleep again?"

"No, it's not like that…"

Mal stepped forward. "Kaylee's right. We can't just present this choice to her. We gotta tell her how we got here, how she got here…and where that chemical came from."

Simon gave an almost imperceptible sigh. "Do we have time…?"

Mal almost smiled. "You're the doctor."

Eventually, after spending moments lost in thought, Simon nodded. "As your doctor," he said to Kaylee. "I can't recommend putting off the treatment for very long. But as your…" He trailed off.

Kaylee nodded, awash with bewilderment, and fear, and all sorts of negative emotions, some of which she didn't even know the name of. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and it was that display of helplessness that Mal and Simon had to address.

"Before we get started, it might be best to get the girl some refreshments; we might be here for a few hours," said Mal.

"She shouldn't eat before a procedure…"

"Something to drink then." Simon wandered across to a call button built into the lighting controls, and as he did so Mal took the seat he had previously sat on. He took Kaylee's hands in his.

"You're gonna be okay," he said. "Pay no attention to what the Doc says. I don't care what the odds are; you're gonna make it through this."

Kaylee tried to smile, but the expression failed. "Simon never had a good bedside manner. You're just tryin' to pretty up what he has to say." But Mal shook his head forcibly.

"No. That ain't true. Once you hear what we've been through this past month, you'll change your mind about that. We didn't come through it all just so you could go and die on us now."

Simon had wandered back to the foot of her bed, and nodded reassuringly at her. With her reserve of courage somewhat restored, she felt ready to listen to their story.

"So are you gonna tell me a tale or what?" she asked.

"Well, where do we…?" asked Simon. "How you got off the ship?"

"No," said Mal. "It started before then. I know exactly where to begin."

Kaylee leaned forward slightly in anticipation, and Mal mirrored the gesture, as if he were imparting some top-secret information.

"Remember Andrews?" he asked.

And he started to talk.


	2. Day Zero: Andrews

**Day Zero **

**Andrews**

The guards shoved themselves into either one of the double doors, forcing them open as they dragged their captive down the stark white corridor. One set followed by another, and another…after ten times the captive stopped counting, seeking comfort in the repetitive sound. He knew that the doors served as security measures that allowed the crew of the ship to pass through normally, but in a security lockdown they would seal shut, creating dozens of barriers for any prisoner hoping to escape the high security zone to breach. Of course, there were overrides, but the captive didn't have any handy. After all, he would have utilised them if he did.

He chuckled to himself, succeeding in losing himself entirely in the monotonous sounds of the double doors, but his reverie was sharply interrupted when there was a sudden jerk to the side and he found himself in a perfectly white room.

The two guards dumped him onto the deck, and almost as soon as they had withdrawn a transparent barrier had sunk down from the ceiling, separating him from the exit. The soldiers withdrew, and he was left alone with his thoughts.

But only for approximately a minute, because then the door opened again and a tall man walked inside. His steps were measured; he wasn't hurrying, but no one could accuse him of dawdling either. The captive got the distinct impression that this was a man who knew not only exactly where he was going, but how far and at what speed, as well as his estimated time of arrival.

"Captain Daniel Andrews," said the man, setting down a file on a small table that had escaped Andrews' notice until now, possibly because it appeared to be exactly the same colour as the rest of the room. The man sat down on what first appeared to be thin air, but closer inspection revealed a stool stood next to the table, of the same colour.

"Yep," said Andrews. It was a safe piece of information to give away. And besides, these things were usually based on exchanges, anyway. "And you are?"

"I don't have a name," said the man, his piercing blue eyes seeing right through Andrews. He suddenly felt very nervous.

They stood and sat in silence for what seemed like forever, before the man spoke again.

"Do you know what an Operative is?" he asked. His hand fiddled with the file on the table.

Andrews nodded. "I've heard stories, sure. Something the guys tell each other late at night."

The man smiled ever so slightly. "Well, I can assure you that Operatives are real, and that you are standing in the same room as one."

Andrews reassessed his importance to the Alliance immediately. If an Operative was interrogating him then this business with the strange creatures was much more important than he had first assumed. He nodded, to signify he had accepted this information.

The Operative continued. "I have been trained extensively on methods and techniques of torture. Now, I'm not sure how familiar you are with torture – I assume you were given basic training with the Independents – but I'm not entirely sure that it will be necessary with you. It depends how co-operative you are. Which is perhaps predictable, but I thought I would state the rules of engagement before we begin. Clear so far?"

Andrews nodded. What else could he do?

"Good." He sat down at the table again, and opened the file. "Captain Daniel Andrews. Age; twenty-nine. Height; five feet, eleven inches. We don't have a weight, so I'll skip that section. Born and raised on Taurus by a family of farmers. Left the planet aged seventeen with friends. Spent the next six years doing odd-jobs to fund travel expenses, eventually lost all friends as they settled down on various worlds."

Andrews had noticed that the Operative was referring to him as if he wasn't in the room. He dredged up the memory of his torture survival classes (that seemed so redundant now – 'torture survival classes'? Sounds like it would slot in between 'cookery' and 'math') that told him he was being disassociated from himself. He would come to think of himself as a separate entity, and so all of the people he would be letting down by confessing all knowledge to his torturer wouldn't care, because a stranger would have confessed, not Andrews. It also objectified him; an object that could then be degraded as far as the Operative could do so. When he had reached his lowest point, the Operative would then show him his previous identity, and use it as payment to emotionally bribe him into confessing.

Boy, he enjoyed knowing how he was going to be broken before it happened.

The Operative continued. "Forced to settle on Bernadette – ironically, a place that settlers often set out on their journeys to the Rim – and opened a hunting ranch with last remaining friend where rich tourists could go to feel as if they had truly experienced Rim life. Years of experience on the farms helped to hone the skills used in hunting, but before long became bored. Wanderlust kicked in. Using part of the large sums of money acquired from the ranch, part financed a machine shop, and there honed the skills of piloting even further. Was approached by the New Independent movement after four years on Bernadette and was enrolled in their officer training program. While naturally not as advanced or as reliable as the Alliance officer training program, was awarded efforts with a small ship and a crew of four, and has spent the last six months at large."

With that, he closed the file and stood again.

"And now here I am," said Andrews, determined to maintain his identity. The Operative nodded. He looked almost ape-like in the white light of the room, but he had displayed signs that he had a powerful intellect.

"Here you are," he said, voiding his efforts in reading out Andrews' bio. Maybe that was never his game in the first place. Maybe he had some other scheme running in the background that Andrews wasn't even aware of.

"The thing is," said the Operative, "Is that I'm not entirely sure you're going to co-operate. I think that you're going to force me to torture you."

"That'd be unfortunate."

"Yes. Considerably. For you, anyway. I'll be honest with you. I'm functioning within a few time constraints, so it'd be very helpful if you could confess right away, or I'll be forced to skip the nicer ways of coercion to the more…unpleasant techniques at my disposal."

"You haven't asked me anything yet."

"True. Well, I suppose that means you're ready to begin. Let's start with something simple. Tell me how you were brought here."

"Go to hell," said Andrews immediately. He had been looking forward to saying that to this smug Alliance bastard.

The Operative just smiled. "Very well. I'll explain on your behalf." He fiddled with the collar of his suit – one of those hi-tech body armour outfits – and the barrier rose up between them.

He flew forward, catching Andrews' chin with his fist. The younger man was slammed into the wall, his head spinning with the sudden impact. The Operative was on him again as soon as he was down, hitting and kicking him viciously in all the sensitive areas. His ribs, his kidneys, and his stomach were subjected to the beating, and he even suffered the occasional jab to the head. Andrews finally let out a cry of pain as the Operative hit the exact spot of his left kidney he had previously connected with, and the man stepped away.

The barrier sank back down again, and the Operative paced evenly back to the table. That same damned walking gait. Andrews spat onto the ground and was pleased to find no blood in it. He struggled to his feet, unwilling to show any more weakness to his captor.

"That all you got?" he asked, slightly unsteady on his feet. The Operative just smiled, produced a small device, and depressed it between his thumb and forefinger.

Andrews' body stiffened, an electrical current passing through it. His teeth clenched in his mouth, and he collapsed backwards, unable to control his body. A few stifled grunts escaped his clenched teeth, but he created no other sound. He had experienced no other pain like it in his life; every nerve ending in his body was on fire. Finally the Operative released the button, and Andrews gasped in pain. Closer inspection of his hand revealed that he was _smoking._

"That would be your body starting to fry," informed the Operative clinically. "You may also feel your heart beating like a drum inside your chest. It is not advisable to keep on exposing your heart to such a large voltage, or it will stop beating."

A drum? It felt like three marching bands were parading around inside his ribcage. Andrews crawled to his knees, but couldn't support his weight any further. He gazed up at the Operative, more stunned than anything else.

"What did you…?"

"A small device, inserted via a delivery mechanism attached to my fist. Didn't you think my second punch stung a little more than all of the others?"

A quick check of his arm revealed an ugly welt, caused by something that had pierced his jacket. Blood smeared onto his fingers, but he was more disturbed to find he didn't have any feeling left in that part of his arm. The wound was still smoking.

"Do I have your attention?" asked the Operative, and Andrews nodded numbly. "Why don't you tell me how you got here?" he repeated amiably.

"We were…out on assignment," started Andrews falteringly. "Track down Malcolm Reynolds and his crew. Get Captain Harvey from them and return with Reynolds to home base."

"Where's home base?"

"I'm not telling you that. Push that button as much as you like, but that's one thing I'm never telling you."

He smiled. Damn him and his affability. "Doesn't matter. We bombed your base on Hera into a crater in the earth. I'm sure one of your comrades we captured there will let us in on the secret. It isn't really my concern anyway. The contents of the crate Reynolds was transporting is. What do you know about it?"

Andrews stared at him resolutely. "That's classified."

His back arched and he collapsed to the floor as the current tore through his body again. His nostrils were suddenly filled with the stench of burning hair, and even in the throes of his seizure he could see his skin had started smoking again. The pain was even more unimaginably intense than before. He slumped to the deck when the Operative released him, unable even to lift himself off the floor.

"What's in the crate?"

Spittle flecked from Andrews' mouth as the muscles weakened and didn't respond to his mind's commands. His vision had grown darker and parts of his body were numb.

"What's in the crate?"

"You…bastard…" managed Andrews, his voice sounding slurred. "What…have you done…with my men?"

"You know exactly what I've done with your men. One was shot dead after resisting arrest on board your ship, and the other two have been subjected to the contents of the crate you opened on Harvey's vessel. What's in the crate?"

"You…know…what's in it."

"Yes. But I want to hear you say it."

"What will…happen…to them?"

"Exactly the same thing as will happen to Captain Harvey." He checked his chronometer. "If it hasn't already happened. The incubation period tends to fluctuate. Some people have days, others merely hours."

"I don't know what…you're talking about." He was getting stronger by the second. He could now lift himself off the floor and his speech was stabilising back towards the norm. He felt as weak as a kitten still, but his heart, at least, was calming towards a normal beating pattern. Feeling it fluttering in his chest was the worst torture he could have imagined; even more than enduring the current that caused that behaviour.

"Yes you do. Now tell me. What's in the crate?"

"How did you find us?"

"I ask the questions here," snapped the Operative, and pressed the button. The painfully familiar agony shot through Andrews' body, but only for a few seconds. That time was merely meant to serve as a reminder – not a full-blown attack like the others. "What's in the crate?"

"Aliens," said Andrews, scared that his entire left arm was now numb. He had lost the feeling past his shoulder, and the limb lay limply next to his slumped body.

"That's a…crude term, but I suppose it's accurate," said the Operative. "We prefer to refer to them as xenomorphs."

"Whatever…" murmured Andrews. He felt terribly weak.

"Now, what I really want to know," said the Operative, "Is where Reynolds is."

Andrews managed to look up and stare emptily at his captor. His eyes peered intently down at his prisoner – this was the information he had been waiting to obtain. Andrews finally had some power.

"…Why's it so important?

"Because if that xenomorph gets off their vessel, it could wreak havoc throughout the colonised worlds. Now tell me where they are."

"So…you really do care…"

"Care? No, I'm sorry, you seem to have misunderstood me. If it gets loose it means that Project Nightmare will have become exposed to public scrutiny, and I'm afraid that is not acceptable. So you see, it is absolutely vital that I find Reynolds immediately."

Andrews just heaved and panted on the ground, willing his heart to return to normal. He was expecting the current to return at any moment, and needed a reserve of strength to withstand it. His heart would eventually seize and stop beating under repeated exposure to such a voltage. He needed to stall the Operative.

"What happens to me after I tell you?" he asked.

"Whatever I want to happen to you. Let's get one thing straight – I'm not here to broker a deal with you, or play any games. I'm here to break you. And that's all."

"What use will I be…if I'm dead?" said Andrews. "I'm not sure my heart can take much more of this… It feels like it's going to…bounce out of my chest."

"Your heart will take it. You're a healthy young man – there's a few more shocks left in you yet. I'll know when your heart has had enough."

"How?"

"When you die." He pressed the button again, and this time he didn't let go.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

The Operative stepped out of the room and addressed the guards standing outside.

"He's alive. Barely. Keep an eye on him – he's a devious one."

The guard nodded obediently and the Operative walked on down the corridor, pushing through the double security doors at the regular intervals.

He had seen all of Andrews as he had stepped through the door. True, he had reviewed his file before he had even laid eyes on the younger man but he had seen all of his personality evident, shining on his face the very first moment he had seen him.

Idealistic. That's how he would describe the man in one word. Not loyal, because ideologies can change, and Andrews would be open to changing his own to adapt to a new environment. In that sense the New Independents had chosen poorly in a field Captain, but he supposed they had only given him a small ship and a small crew, so if he'd vanished somewhere down the line it wouldn't have been an immense loss. The value of his skills outweighed the value of his loyalty; that was the truest indication of an army whose choices were severely limited.

Not like the Alliance. The Operative alone had the combined manpower of thousands of personnel, but only a few of them, of course, had full disclosure about Project Nightmare. It was odd that the Alliance had given _him_ full disclosure on such a project; Operatives were generally considered blunt instruments to be used when bribery failed in sensitive matters. But the incident involving one of his number treating his target with compassion after they had outwitted him – the target, coincidentally, being Reynolds – was an example not to be tolerated by the government. That Operative was summarily executed as an example to any other Operative who considered such treasonous behaviour, but the fact that he had been given full disclosure would be indicative of the Alliance reassessing their approach to such matters.

That is, assuming what the Alliance told him was the truth.

He had no way of knowing, but the Alliance needed men like him to do their dirty work, so as long as he obeyed their rule, they would look after him. Unlike other people in his particular profession, he held no qualms about the sanctity of the Alliance. He knew they did evil – usually through men like him – but the ideal they were striving for was what he committed himself to. He viewed the Alliance as the tool that would bring forth the new world in which the ideal would exist. He had been trained to believe that he would have no place in this utopia, but he also believed there was no place for the Alliance there, either. However, for now, he worked for them, and if they said jump, he jumped, and if they said die, he died. He didn't matter; he was simply part of the machine.

He walked onto the bridge of the ship amid much activity. The command centre was always a hive of bustle, even when nothing much was happening. However, what was happening now was that the crew were hurriedly trying to repair the damage caused by the combined Reaver/Independent fleets around Hera. Reynolds had been within his grasp over Hera; only luck had allowed them to escape. Luck, and some pretty decent flying. He'd had a wing of fighters right behind their vessel but they were all lost in the crossfire. They'd picked up Andrews' vessel on the far side of the planet when they had boarded Harvey's vessel, which was being kept in quarantine in a low orbit by the New Independents. Andrews hadn't seen him coming, and now he was the only member of his crew left alive. And, it seemed, the only link to finding Reynolds.

"Bring Andrews' ship online," he ordered a commander standing nearby. "He's been in contact with Reynolds since he left Hera. You should be able to trace the transmission via the cortex log." Andrews had taken a little time to break, but not a lot. He had told the Operative everything.

"Very good sir," said the commander. "What about Andrews himself?"

The Operative mused. Kill him or feed him to Nightmare? Ultimately he decided against both options. "Keep him alive for now. If this lead to finding Reynolds doesn't work out he might know something else that's useful. He said that there's only one xenomorph on board Reynolds' ship. A concussive blast should be enough to take out the ship, and we can deal with the debris later."

"You have no plans to capture the crew? The scientists tell me that they need more subjects for Project Nightmare."

The Operative almost shrugged. "If something comes along, then by all means; the destruction of the vessel, however, comes first. Are you still having problems with the sensors?"

The officer removed slightly to study a nearby console.

"No. The blip on the radar seems to have been a glitch. It 'followed' us for a period of several hours, but the engineers assure me it was a defect on the sensor itself, which gave the illusion of it following us."

The Operative narrowed his eyes. "We'll see. Keep an eye on it," he said, and turned to stare into the depths of space shown to him through the viewport at the front of the bridge.

Several hours later, and Project Nightmare had four more subjects. The xenomorph on board Serenity had been destroyed, along with the rest of the ship. However the Operative would soon regret ever having come into contact with Malcolm Reynolds and his crew.

_A/N:_

_Thanks to epm00012004 and MAndrews for your reviews. Glad you're enjoying it so much!_


	3. Day Zero: The Sunken Trio

**Day Zero**

**The Sunken Trio**

"Goodbye," said Mal to no one in particular.

And plunged the cable into the water.

But nothing happened.

It took him three of the seven seconds it was going to take before the Void reached him and tore him to shreds to fully realize that nothing was happening, and one to whirl around in the water. In that same second, he saw River with one hand on the emergency override lever next to what was left of the main power conduits and the other holding Mal's pistol.

"Ever so melodramatic," she commented abstractedly, and then promptly shot the thing erupting towards Mal between the teeth.

It soared backwards in the water with the force of the bullet impact, acid spraying from the back of its domed head. Then it sank beneath the surface of the churning water, the yellow corrosive fluid leaving a trail to mark where it had passed.

Mal, stunned, allowed River to haul him from the water and onto the gangway.

"You dropped this," she said, handing him the pistol. He numbly accepted it. "Did you really think that electrocuting a creature that can pass through the main power conduits of the ship unhurt would work?" she asked almost scathingly. Almost - River never emoted much at the best of times.

Mal realized the numbness with which he accepted the gun was not entirely shock - ironic, considering that's kind of what he had been aiming for just a few minutes ago - but from the freezing cold water that was pumping into the ship.

He dropped the gun. Inara! He stooped over her body. She still wasn't breathing.

He started pressing onto her chest, breathing into her mouth. His lips felt immediately warmer once they pressed to hers, and he thought this odd, considering they should be both freezing cold. After several compressions, the water was staying inside of Inara's lungs. He looked up to River desperately.

The girl looked at him with hooded eyes. "Try compressing her back."

He rolled the Companion gently over and started pressing down with his hands onto the centre of her ribcage. Water started to seep out of her mouth – what seemed like an incredible amount – but after a short time nothing was emerging. He rolled her onto her back again and started to breath in through her mouth, his lips once again hit by the sensation of warmth.

He blew oxygen into her mouth three times, to no response. Finally, on his fourth breath, she started coughing and spluttering, rolling onto her side in her semi-conscious delirium.

As Mal chortled with joyous, relieved laughter, and River watched him cradle the Companion in his arms, neither of them noticed the small, shiny, black ovoid structure next to the cocoon that had imprisoned Inara start to twitch.

"Mal…" she muttered, almost opening her eyes. The Captain hugged her tightly to him, joy rising in his chest that she was still alive. Everything else faded away, and he languished in the warmth of his one victory over his circumstances.

"Yeah," he said back to her, although she had slipped back under. "Yeah…it's me. It's over, 'Nara."

River frowned and looked down at the grating below her. Something was tickling the back of her mind, trying to assert itself again.

"No," she said in a low voice. She turned to gaze into the depths of the water bubbling to the ever-rising surface of the ocean within the ship. "No, there's still someth–"

The small creature exploded at her face, reaching out with uncomfortably human like fingers that urged to wrap around her head. Her hands shot up quickly enough on reflex, and it only managed to get half a grip, her hands blocking its progress towards her face. The organic tube groped at her hand, seeking her mouth. She staggered backwards, banging into the bulkhead behind her. Mal jumped up immediately, shocked into action.

"River!" he cried, diving for his pistol. He grabbed the handle and aimed it at the creature, but at the last second he remembered the fluid that coursed inside the monster. His finger froze on the trigger, trying to think of an alternative that didn't involve soaking River's face with an acid that could dissolve metal in seconds.

"Mal…" whispered Inara, opening her eyes for the first time. His gaze met with hers; his anguished, hers groggily bewildered.

The creature had wrapped its tail around River's neck, the girl starting to make strangled, choking noises. Mal grit his teeth and abandoned the pistol, running towards River.

She had collapsed to her knees by the time he had reached her, and she was all innocent girl again. Her big brown eyes welled up and pleaded to him in place of her voice, which was being choked from her body. Her face was an unhealthy shade of red, and her trembling arms were barely keeping the creature at bay.

He wrapped his hands around the monstrosity, and evidently its behaviour was as adaptable as its anatomy when it freed its tail from River's neck and scrambled towards Mal's. He stumbled back, taken completely by surprise. He managed to get his forearm in front of it, but its tail had secured a vice-like grip on his neck. It squeezed with an unholy power and Mal could no longer breath.

He started to follow his first instinct – panic – but he tried to keep it together long enough to kill the thing threatening him. Unfortunately, he was so focused on not panicking that he forgot where exactly he was in the cargo bay, and before he could stop himself he had stepped backwards off the gangway, plunging back into the seething torrent of rising water.

Just after his feet had left the gangway, Serenity was hit by another blast by an Alliance depth charge, but not as violent as the first. Mal saw a splash follow him under the water out of the corner of his eye and wondered if the dive was deliberate or forced on by the impact. But then there were another pair of hands trying to subdue the monster threatening them. The new set of hands managed to gain purchase between the tail and Mal's neck and started to pull. The water, however, was making fighting even more difficult, absorbing most of any effort they exerted.

Mal felt his earlier fatigue return to him, and his right leg suddenly went completely dead – he couldn't move it more than a few centimetres. He started to sink down towards the deck of the submerged ship, feeling his hands lose their strength in holding the creature at bay. His lungs were starting to burn with the desire to breath, and the terrifying maw of the monster just inches from his face started to edge closer, even more frightening in the eerie flicker of the fire raging above them on the surface of the water.

But then it was moving away. The new hands retreated from moving the tail and instead turned the main body of the organism away from Mal, when it released its grip of his neck and swam away, propelling itself with its tail.

Mal tried to focus and gather every reserve of his strength. Fate had allowed him a respite against the creature, and now it was up to him to escape the depths of the water sinking his ship. He established where he was in the cargo bay, and kicked as he had only done a few minutes ago, to escape the water trying to gain entrance to his mouth, much in the same way the creature was.

He surfaced just a few feet from River, who was in a bad way. The organism was stroking at her face with its fingers, so close it was to her. Its tail was wrapped around her neck once again. The girl clearly wouldn't last more than a few moments.

Mal suddenly felt a fierce resolve burn within him. All in a moment, he promised whatever higher being that was watching – and laughing, by the looks of things – that he would kill that monster or die himself. He sank back down beneath the water, swimming underneath of River. He grabbed her around the waist and moved her closer to the girders supporting the upper gangway Inara lay on. He lay both of his feet flat on a horizontal girder and pushed with all of his remaining strength. He felt a ligament in his leg scream with protest, but the effort paid off.

He and River exploded from under the surface of the water and he tossed her forward. She hit the gangway surface and rolled a few feet to a stop, the creature closer than ever to her face.

Mal, having sank back down to the surface of the water, clawed upwards, desperately seeking some kind of leverage on the smooth metal surface. His fingers scraped against the metal grating at the centre of the gangway, but it was too far in for him to be able to pull himself up with.

He started to slip and fall back beneath the water, and he knew he wouldn't be able to summon up another display of strength like the one he had just demonstrated. He had just started to resign himself to a watery grave when another hand wrapped around his and heaved up, lifting him so his waist reached the level of the gangway. He flopped forward, his chest making a splat with the water soaked within his clothes.

"There's no time for that," said Inara, her voice slurring. She collapsed down onto her knees, supporting herself with her arms, the effort she had exerted lifting him up taking its toll. "Go help River," she said, her eyes almost rolling in the back of her head.

Not even taking a second to thank her, Mal clambered up and stumbled forward to where River lay, almost completely still with asphyxiation, but still battling the monster from wrapping itself around her face.

Limping, Mal collapsed to his knees next to River, the same ligament shrieking in protest as he hit the metal, and started to unwrap the organism's tail from the girl's neck, as she had done for him beneath the water.

The salty liquid dripped from Mal's face down onto the creature's back, and it twitched in response, taking notice of Mal's presence.

"Not this time," Mal said to it, shocked by the fatigue evident in his voice. With River holding the monster from her face and Mal concentrating entirely on removing its tail from her neck, they had restrained it within minutes. Mal barely contained the frighteningly strong thrashing of the tail between his clenched fists, and River, looking barely conscious, lifted the creature from her face.

Together they lifted the jerking organism between them, and at that point Mal realised they had missed a portion of their otherwise solid plan.

"My pistol," he said to River. But the sound of a hammer being cocked back sounded from further back along the gangway.

"Way ahead of you," said Inara, holding the pistol wavering before her. Mal nodded at her and then looked back to River, rising to his feet. The girl followed him up.

"On three," he said. River narrowed her eyes at him.

"Three," she said, and heaved the organism towards Inara, bringing Mal's hands with her. The creature sailed through the air, twisting and squirming like a cat trying to land on its feet.

Inara closed one eye, hesitated for a moment, and then squeezed the trigger. The monster exploded in an organic jet of yellow fluid, spraying the gangway beneath it in a fine mist. The cargo bay was sharply illuminated for a split-second as the muzzle flash lit the chamber. The metal had already started to bubble before what was left of the creature's body hit the deck.

Then Inara started to scream. She started to claw at her face and arms, howling with pain beyond Mal's reckoning. He stumbled forward, leaning on the rail for support until he reached the radius of the sprayed area. He removed his hand and started forward, his boots hissing and bubbling along with the metal as he stepped through the acidic spray. Heat radiated through the soles and his feet started to feel like they were burning, as if the fuel fire that raged below them was reaching up to drag him back underneath the surface of the water.

He reached Inara and she hadn't stopped wailing – he assembled all of his remaining effort into hauling her up onto his shoulder, the Companion walking beside him, and marched her back across the pitted metal. He took his pistol from her grasp and placed it back in its holster.

The beleaguered couple managed to reach the upper exit of the cargo bay before Mal's rightt leg gave in completely, unable to support their weight against the awkward angle the deck was now tilted at, and they fell face first onto the grating of the gangway beneath them. Inara had quietened slightly; her cries of pain were now being emoted as a series of mindless sobs that tore at Mal's brain like wild animals, removing his ability to think straight.

He tried to lift the Companion to her feet but they were no longer alone. River heaved the Companion up onto her shoulder, and together with Mal they walked Inara between them down towards the second shuttle hatch.

Another depth charge rattled the ship, and the three beleaguered crew members staggered sideways into the bulkhead. But they were back and walking again in moments, all too conscious of the water bubbling up behind them from the cargo bay.

Mal noticed an odd sound accompanying them, and saw that River was dragging a long piece of metal along with them. Before he had time to question her about it, they encountered their next obstacle.

"It's underwater," said Mal, stating the obvious only for the reason that his brain was unable of processing any other higher thought than that. The water had reached a point in the corridor that held the hatch to the second shuttle so that the hatch was under six feet of water. The low light rippled slightly to indicate the level of the water, and Mal could see it was rising fast. Forgetting for a moment his position on the ship, he cast a confused look over at River.

"What do we do?" he asked, but the girl just carried on walking forward, Mal following on dumb reflex. They sank up to their waists in the silent, black surface of liquid, and River sank underneath it, lost for a moment to the darkness.

Something whirred slightly, making the water ripple. Then the water level sank several feet, exposing the top of the shuttle hatch. River floated to the surface just in front of it, gesturing Mal forward. He followed her instruction, bringing Inara with him. Together they half walked, half floated into the shuttle, which was now underneath approximately three feet of water.

He laid Inara as gently as possible onto the couch, and she was now mostly quiet, sank back into the half conscious state he had found her in. She sat up to her thighs in water, the surface lapping at the sides of the couch. He turned back to the hatch, but River was already there.

Then he remembered something about the conditions on which he had stayed behind.

"The manual release," he said. "One of us has to activate it from outside." But River shook her head.

"Not you," she said. "It's not your time."

He bristled at the thought of leaving River behind on this shell, but the girl smiled faintly at him, amused by his antics even now.

"Not my time either," she said, waving him forwards. He came to stand with her, and she lay down facing up in the water. Now she floated on its surface, the long metal bar by her side.

Mal realised what she was going to do, and nodded at her. He sat down in the water, bracing both of his feet against the entrance to the shuttle, and grabbed hold of River's ankles.

_I hope my leg holds,_ he thought, and then tried to mask any of his negative thoughts on River's behalf. He was sure the girl didn't want anything else weighing her down.

He pushed River forward, back out into the corridor, up to the maximum extension of his arms. His legs burned as they sustained a constant effort to maintain their position, and just when he thought he couldn't hold on any longer, River gave him the signal.

"Now!" she said, and she swung the bar up and out to hit the control that activated the manual release. The button depressed and the shuttle whirred to life. Mal heaved backwards as hard as he could, and River shot backwards towards him along the surface of the water.

The shuttle hatch slid down from the ceiling without mercy or remorse, seemingly intent on cutting the girl in half. Mal's leg finally gave in, and he cried out in pain. River slowed in her backwards motion towards him, and for a moment it looked as if the heartless machine might decapitate her. But her head shot from underneath the hatch just in the nick of time, trapping some of her hair inside the mechanism in the floor.

Her head sunk beneath the surface of the water as the hatch caught her hair, and she started to thrash about, desperately trying to free herself from the device. The docking clamps rumbled underneath them, and the shuttle burst free from Serenity at last.

But Mal was up and frantically trying to find some kind of sharp instrument to free River from the clutches of the doorway. His hand closed around a toolbox that someone had left inside the shuttle after maintenance when an alarm started to beep. The shuttle's lights flickered to life and Mal squinted in the new, alien light, used to the darkness of Serenity.

The alarm signified that something was wrong with the shuttle, and that the automated life support systems were compensating for the error. Several air bubbles rose up from the deck, and the water started to be pumped from the shuttle and outside into the ocean that surrounded them.

After several moments, River's head was freed from the surface of the water and she coughed and spluttered as she filled her lungs with air. Mal, with more restraint as the imminent danger had passed, limped to her side and set down the toolbox. She looked up at him, almost embarrassed, and he couldn't help but chuckle at the look on her face.

"Fine mess you've got yourself in, girly," he said, what felt like his first words for an eternity. He allowed himself to collapse sideways into the bulkhead, letting the metallic structure take his entire weight. He felt like he never wanted to move, ever again.

"Get me free," said River, and he was again struck by the vast difference in her character since she had killed the Void. She was almost back to normal – as normal as River could be, in any case.

He flipped open the rusty lid of the toolbox and started to rummage around inside it. He unearthed what looked like the blade of a hacksaw, except without the handle. Taking it in his hand, he set it against River's hair. He gave her a grave look.

"I should warn you," he said. "I'm not the best stylist."

River just looked at him despairingly, and Mal started to cut at the mass of black trapped beneath the hatch of the shuttle. With almost no effort, the hacksaw blade had sheared through her hair and she could sit up unimpaired. Her hair now barely brushed the bottom of her neck. Mal took in her new look.

"Suits you," he said. River shot him a worrying look.

"Too short?" she asked earnestly, feeling at the length with her hands, and Mal – aware enough to treat the question with the proper air of gravity – shook his head solemnly. River seemed to process this and then accept it, standing and moving to Inara's side.

"She's hurt," she said. Mal staggered to his feet and limped wearily to sit on the couch beside Inara, and saw what River meant.

Small marks pitted her exposed skin, like a minor case of acne. Her clothes were full of similarly sized holes that must have been caused when she had shot the smaller creature on the gangway of the cargo bay.

Mal's stomach lurched again as he realised that his ship was no more; never again would he walk her corridors, sleep in her bunks, eat from her table. River, perhaps sensing his thoughts, patted his shoulder reassuringly. The very human gesture affected Mal more than he cared to admit, and he felt his eyes sting with tears.

He coughed and tried to shrug off the feeling, focussing instead on Inara. _Stop bein' so selfish,_ he told himself. _Inara needs me much more than Serenity does right now._

"Can we do anythin' for her?" he asked River, who shook her head minutely.

"Damage is done," she said. "Can't undo it."

"What about this?" Mal asked, poking under Inara's dress. An angry welt rose up from the surface of her skin on her hip, visible through a tear in her clothing. When he touched it, Inara winced and whimpered in her delirium.

"The Void did it," said River, that dark, animalistic look washing over her face again. Mal frowned. It must be the way it captured its prey, he decided. The end of its tail looked like it had some kind of organic barb built into it – maybe it used it to administer some kind of sedative to incapacitate its prey? Then it would be free to drag whatever it had stunned back to its lair, and subject it to its…_unique_ method of procreation.

The shuttle rocked with a sudden impact, and a glance out of the forward viewer revealed massive air bubbles rising up past them. River explained, but Mal had already figured it out by himself.

"Serenity," she said, and that was all. The ship had finally succumbed to the pressure of the ocean and burst, releasing the air inside it from beneath them.

And there they stood, watching the ocean rise around them, until they surfaced. The light from the system's sun leaked brighter and brighter through the thinning layer of water above them until finally it burst through, bathing the interior of the shuttle in dull red warmth. It was setting; Mal squinted his eyes in order to take in the view properly. He intended to watch the sunset until it was fully dark, maybe even shed a couple of tears, but his plan didn't get farther than a few seconds.

He felt a slight pressure in his side and then heard a faint whirring. Surprised, he turned sideways to see River aiming his pistol at him.

She waved towards Inara with the weapon. "Onto the couch," she instructed, and Mal slowly took a seat next to the unconscious woman.

"Whatcha doin', River?" he asked warily, but the girl merely stepped backwards into the cockpit and sealed the hatch behind her. Mal knew it was useless to try and bypass the safety feature, instead choosing to activate the intercom.

"Need help, girly?" he asked, but she didn't respond. The shuttle lurched to life, lifting from the surface of the ocean and into the air. Mal felt from the incline that they were travelling along the surface of the moon, rather than up and out into space. He frowned, but instead recuperated on the couch.

He felt his leg – the one that had been giving him so much trouble – and established that one area in particular in his knee, working its way up to his thigh was hurting most of all. He'd have to take it easy, or get the Doc to look at it. Assuming they ever saw each other again. He had to guess that that was where River was taking them – to meet up with the others. But he wouldn't have to wait long to confirm his suspicions.

The shuttle soared to a stop after less than fifteen minutes of travel, and the cockpit hatch slid open. River edged out, still aiming the pistol at Mal. She gestured at him.

"Pick her up," she said.

"What are you doin', River?" asked Mal, refusing to move.

She fired the gun, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He held up his hands momentarily. "Okay, okay, I'm doin' it!" he cried. He started to lift Inara, and she murmured something under her breath.

"No, I don't know what the hell she's up to, 'Nara," he said, but River didn't respond. Finally he stood facing her with Inara gathered up in his arms.

"Good. Now get out." She palmed a control with her free hand and the main hatch to the shuttle opened. Warm air whirled around their feet, ruffling their clothes. Mal took one look at the hatch and then raised his eyebrows.

"If this is because I cut your locks…"

She fired the pistol again, and he started walking towards the door.

"Least you could do is land the thing," he said.

"Keep walking."

He reached the hatch. Peering out, he could see that there was less than a ten feet drop to the ground below them. Even that distance could wreak havoc on his leg. He looked back to River in all seriousness, trying to appeal to her sense of humanity – whatever was left of it.

"Listen, I know you've got your heart set on whatever scheme that's in your head, but I got a busted up leg and Inara…well, do you wanna risk her fallin' on her head? C'mon, if you're forcin' us off the boat you could land it for us."

River shook her head. "No. Harder to trace that way."

"Is someone lookin' for us?"

"They will be."

"What are you doin', River? What's the plan?"

She smiled slightly, as if it were obvious. "I'm going to get the others."

Mal huffed. "Well you could'a just said that, 'stead of all of this melodrama. Good luck, kiddo," he said, and stepped off the shuttle.

He hit the ground hard, but managed to shield much of the impact from Inara. Various objects hit the ground around him, and then the shuttle soared away from them, up towards space. A quick check about him saw various items that had been quickly scavenged from the emergency supplies on the shuttle; a flashlight, a couple of ration packs, a flare, and some thermal blankets. He found a water flask after several more moments of searching, but nothing else.

He had jumped because he had known River's plan from the moment she had said it. Had he demanded to go with her, it would mean taking Inara, because he sure as hell wouldn't abandon her to this wilderness, and River sure as hell wasn't going to stay on this moon with her, because after all, she was the one holding the gun. So that meant he had to play babysitter for Inara, which was fine by him, because there was also no way he was taking Inara up onto an Alliance cruiser to face who knows how many troopers. He wasn't in much of a condition to be fighting right now himself, and besides, it had been firmly proven that River was much better at violence than he was, so why not stick to the strengths of the group?

In short, he had his business and so did River. For now, their paths had diverged. He stood after checking Inara was okay after the fall, assessing his environment.

He stood on the edge of a forest, a vast and uninviting array of wood and leaves, and to his right lay a valley that led down from the relatively high place he stood on. The sun was setting behind the hill on the opposing side of the valley, casting the forest into shadow. Mal shrugged, gathered up the supplies and then Inara in his arms.

"Guess I head towards the bright light," said Mal, and started walking towards the setting sun.

_A/N: _

_It may be little known continuity that a solitary Alien can produce an egg on its own, however it's still continuity! There's a small scene in Alien: Director's Cut in which Ripley finding Dallas cocooned in the Nostromo with Brett, who has been partially transformed into an egg. So there._


	4. Day One: The Village

**Day One**

**The Village**

Mal limped on through the meadow leading down from the hill they had been cast down upon, over the field after that, and started onto the rolling plain that lay beyond that. The sun had set several hours ago, and he stumbled along with the thermal blankets from the shuttle wrapped around he and Inara in what sometimes felt like a futile effort to stay warm. The wind tore at them and the cold tried to sink its icy fingers deep into his bones, but still Mal soldiered on. Soon, his steps became simply mechanical motions – left, right, left, right, with each right taking slightly less time than the left; for that was the leg he had injured and did not favour. His breath grew ragged in his throat, and before long his arms were burning with the effort of holding Inara, but he refused to complain; he was alive, and that was enough for now.

But just as he was about to give up all hope, he thought he saw something in the distance. He stopped and squinted, trying to make out the wispy haze on the horizon, standing out against the massive silhouette of the planet the moon orbited in the sky. Sure enough, his eyes were not deceiving him – there was a small sliver of smoke reaching up from the horizon, and the very faint glow produced by a fire.

With no other options, Mal started towards the faint glow, the last, burning ember of his hope, and prayed that when he got there that the people were not hostile.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than a burst of fetid breath warmed the back of his neck, and something sharp prodded his back.

"Don't move," whispered a guttural voice. Mal, encumbered as he was with Inara, had no choice but to comply.

"I'd raise my hands," he said, "But they're a little tied up at the moment."

The newcomer paid no attention whatsoever to Mal's comment, instead patting him down. He found the pistol in its holster and removed it, along with the small blade Mal kept in his left boot tied to his ankle.

"This gonna take long?" asked Mal, but the aggressor merely grunted.

"I'd put the girl down," the voice advised. Mal frowned, intending to question this advice, but the horizon suddenly tilted sideways.

"Woah," he slurred. "Tha's not supposhed to…" He fell sideways to the ground, succumbing to the effects of whatever he had been prodded with.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

_"Mal…"_

The captain stirred in his slumber, not wanting to rouse himself to full consciousness just yet.

"_Mal."_

"Just a few more minutes," he muttered.

"Mal!"

With the sharp exclamation, he jerked awake fully and flailed his arms, hoping to drive away whatever aggression that had sparked the crying out of his name. After a few moments, he established that the only aggression in the room he lay in was Inara's, for having taken so long to respond to her summons.

She frowned at him reproachfully, and he managed to look suitably hurt. He rubbed his eyes with his hands, trying to achieve full consciousness. Quickly he felt himself awaken, and most of the fatigue he had felt the previous night had faded away. Sure, he was still feeling beat, but definitely not as much as he did the day before. Being sedated rather than being cudgelled unconscious by something tended to be more restful, Mal had found, through years of personal experience.

"Where are we?" he asked, and Inara huffed.

"I'm fine, thanks for asking."

"And by 'where are we,' I of course meant 'how are you'?"

"I don't know where we are. I woke up here, and no one's been in yet. The door's locked."

Mal took in his surroundings. They were in a crude wooden hut, but some luxuries inhabited the space. A bunk bed was built into the wall, the bottom bed of which Mal was lying on, and Inara sat on a chair resting against the opposite wall. A large bowl of water stood near to the only exit to the room. A tatty rug covered the floor. There were no windows in the room, but several lamps set about the room provided illumination. Daylight flooded in underneath the door, indicating it was at least already morning.

"And?" he asked, casting one eye back towards Inara.

"And what?"

"How are you?"

She started to speak, but obviously thought better of it. She breathed three times and then directed her gaze to the floor, looking subdued. Mal frowned.

"Inara?"

"I'm fine," she said in a small voice, though she was obviously anything but. Mal felt himself deflate a little bit, and tried to reassure Inara. He shifted forward on the bed, edging towards where she sat.

"Look, I'm sure that whatever these people want with us…"

"It's not that," she interrupted. "And I'm not sure you'd understand."

Mal looked a little hurt. "This that 'petty thief' thing all over again? Just 'cause I don't…" He paused, searching for a suitable example, but nothing came. "…It doesn't mean I won't understand."

"Why do you care anyway?" asked Inara, an edge creeping into her voice. Mal's expression hardened.

"Who said anything 'bout caring?"

They both sat in stubborn silence, neither one willing to break the quiet they had enforced upon themselves. Finally, Inara shifted from where she sat on the chair.

"Is it a terrible thing that…" She paused, nearly thinking better of speaking, but then carried on. "…That despite everything that's happened…the thing that's hurt me the most is this?" She waved a hand across her face. The pitted marks caused by the acid inside the creature back on Serenity, though not life threatening, looked like they were deep enough to scar. They had turned an angry red, and one in particular looked like it had started to blister.

Mal gazed at the upset Companion with as neutral an expression as he could manage, as to maintain the integrity of his next comment.

"I hadn't even noticed," he said honestly. Inara snorted, an expression that threatened to turn into a sob.

"Kind of you to say. But I doubt the patrons of my trade will be as forgiving."

"I'm sure if we can get you back to a Core world that there's some doctor who specialises in this sorta thing," said Mal, trying to be helpful but clutching at straws. "I bet there are tons of Companions who do this sort of thing all the time, and that there's hundreds of doctors waitin' to strap them of their cash."

"I appreciate it, Mal, but you have no idea what you're talking about," said Inara. "I haven't seen my face in a mirror, but these don't feel like regular injuries. Besides which, I doubt the Alliance would pass up an opportunity to catch me so easily. I'd be on dozens of evaluations before I even got into surgery, and my injuries are pretty unique."

"I'll bet there are tons of Companions who, uh…"

"Splash acid on their face? Like I said, Mal, I appreciate it, but you don't know what you're talking about."

Mal felt frustration hit him. "Okay. You're right. I might not have any idea what I'm talking about, but at least I'm tryin' to think up somethin' for you."

"There's a difference between thinking and rambling. Guess which one you're doing right now."

"Well then I won't bother. I'll put some thought into what the hell we're gonna do next. Or…how we're going to get off this rock. Our last ride is at the bottom of an ocean after all."

Inara looked at Mal for a few moments, the import of his words hitting her.

"Mal, I'm…I forgot for a moment why we're here. Serenity was as much my home as it was yours, you know. Maybe not for the past few months, but I was considering staying with you again until all of this happened."

Mal shot a look at her. "Don't pretend like your pain is greater than my pain. I'm not the one sittin' around mopin' about somethin' as shallow as my looks. So do me a favour and don't preach hypocrisy to me. Had enough of that in one lifetime from the Shepherd."

Inara was shocked. "Hypocrisy…?"

"Yeah. Means sayin' one thing and doin' another. Look it up next time you're on a Core world where they have dictionaries. Lord knows the Fringe planets don't have anythin' as technologically advanced as books."

"When did this turn into an attack on my heritage?" demanded Inara.

"When I woke up," spat Mal. "All you got to worry about is a few blemishes, and you're sittin' there like it's the end of the world. I lost _everything._ I don't have a thing left in the 'verse. On top of that the Alliance is breathin' down my neck, River went all psycho lady again, who knows what the hell happened to the rest of my crew, and now I'm locked in a wooden hut in the middle of gorram nowhere with a girl who's worried about her perfect features. So _excuse me_ if none of my suggestions to help you out do you no good."

Inara sat, subdued by Mal's tirade; not because she agreed with him, but because of the force behind his words. Normally when they argued there was always a degree of humour lurking in the background – they both knew that the argument wasn't the end of the world. But there was none of that light heartedness now. Mal was suffering greatly, and she had thrown his attempts to make her feel better back in his face.

"I'm…" she said, all the grief she was feeling bubbling up into her voice. "I'm sorry."

Then she started to cry; low, quiet sobs that wracked her entire body with the strain of releasing her emotional pain physically. Mal sat stoically for a few moments, but then he relented. He stood up and went to kneel next to Inara, wrapping one of his arms around her shoulders. She leant into his body, taking comfort from his presence. They sat there in silence for quite some time, neither of them requiring to talk.

Eventually her sobs grew weaker, and she sat up from leaning against Mal. He rubbed her shoulder reassuringly and then stood up, pacing around the room. Inara noticed him limping.

"What happened to your leg?" she asked, and Mal looked down at it, as if he had forgotten it was even hurt to begin with.

"Oh, uh…I dunno," he replied. "I guess I'm not as cut out for marine life as I first thought. Which…I never thought I was cut out for…but now I definitely won't."

"Let me take a look," she said, and he gave her a quizzical look.

"Didn't know they gave medical training at the Academy."

"I wouldn't go around referring to myself as 'doctor,' but they gave me some limited training."

"Shame Simon isn't here," said Mal, climbing onto the bed. "He'd have me patched up quicker'n you could say 'damaged ligament.'"

"Roll up your trousers," said Inara, cupping some water from the bowl and splashing her hands with it. Mal raised his eyebrows as he fulfilled her request.

"I'll bet that's the first time you've had to say that to a man," he said, but she didn't respond to the bait. She prodded him in the leg, possibly with too much force. Mal cried out in pain.

"Does that hurt?" she asked innocently, and Mal just glowered at her.

"What do you think?" he retorted, but quietened down. Inara started pressing her fingers along his knee, asking if it hurt at appropriate intervals. Finally she instructed him to push his trouser leg back down over his knee, and washed her hands again.

"Well?" asked Mal.

"I'd say you've pulled your hamstring tendon. And maybe something else along with it, but my knowledge of medical terminology is limited to that, I'm afraid."

"Well, it's a good job you're here," said Mal sarcastically, but Inara just arched an eyebrow at him.

"Beats sitting around and complaining, doesn't it?"

Before he could reply, the bolt on the other side of the door rattled and sounds of shuffling came from outside. Mal jumped to his feet, placing himself firmly between Inara and the door.

Several more bolts were unlocked, and finally the door swung open. Mal had to squint as daylight assaulted his vision, shrouding the figure in the doorway in a silhouette. Dust rose all around them, visible because of the intense light.

"What is your name?" asked the silhouette in a slow, quiet voice – the voice of an old man.

"High security," commented Mal of the door. "Worried we'd be goin' somewhere?"

"Yes," said the voice simply. "Now please, tell me your name."

Mal eyed the shadow warily, but decided that there was no harm in imparting that particular piece of information – besides, if the man was Alliance, he'd already know, and chances are they'd be in a much more advanced facility.

"Malcolm Reynolds," he said.

The silhouette stood for a few moments, apparently absorbing the information. "And your friend?"

"Inara Serra," said the woman behind Mal. The figure just stood there for a few moments, and though Mal couldn't see his eyes, he could tell they were being assessed.

Finally, the figure stood aside. "You are free to go," it said.

The pair being held in the room stood cautiously, unsure of what to do, until the silhouette walked away from the room. Mal looked back and exchanged a confused glance with Inara, but then he shrugged and moved to the doorway.

A look outside revealed a corridor that was partially exposed to the elements. On the side Mal stood on was a row of doors, and the opposing wall was simply a wooden fence up to waist height. The rest of the space was empty, allowing Mal to see out past the structure.

A small village bustled across from them, tiny dirt paths leading from wooden hut to wooden hut. A group of children played in the long grass while the adults hurried around them, each carrying a thatched basket or ceramic bowl. Each person was dressed simply in plain cloth garments. Everyone was congregating around a central structure, carrying their goods inside and appearing back outside without the baskets or bowls.

Mal looked to his right to see that the old man was ambling towards a set of stairs that would allow him to join the collective of villagers strolling about them.

He hurried after the old man, limping all the way, beckoning Inara along with him. They reached the mysterious figure as he reached the bottom of the stairs leading out into the village proper.

"Hey, wait," called Mal. The old man turned to gaze at him evenly, and Mal got his first good look at him.

He was entirely non-descript. Mal could have taken his face and replaced it with any other older man's face he had encountered and nothing would have changed. The only extraordinary thing about him, as far as Mal could tell, was that he was so ordinary.

"Yes?" asked the man.

"What is this place?" asked Mal quizzically. This wasn't what he had been expecting at all.

The old man smiled faintly, and gestured with his hand. "Come. You must be hungry. Let us discuss these matters over a warm meal."

Mal's stomach growled suddenly in anticipation, and he realised that he hadn't eaten anything since the previous day and had done a lot on an empty stomach.

"We would be honoured to accept your invitation," said Inara graciously beside him. It beat Mal's planned, 'Food would be good' by about a mile.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

A modest meal was set out in front of them – some kind of vegetable stew served with flat bread – but it looked like the finest banquet Mal had ever set eyes upon. He seized his spoon with vigour, and only Inara's forcefully restraining eye stopped him from setting upon the bowl. The old man was eyeing him with amusement.

"You must be hungry. Please, begin."

That was the only prompt Mal needed. He started hungrily devouring the stew, tearing chunks of the bread away with his teeth at certain intervals. A much more restrained Inara smiled apologetically at the man and his wife, but he simply returned the smile and shook his head.

"There is no need to apologise. I understand that one of the side effects of our tranquiliser is waking up with a ravenous hunger. It is I who should apologise."

They had been taken to the man's hut, where an equally elderly lady had greeted them inside, ushering them to the table that sat on one side of the room. A small stove sat on the opposite side of the one room hut, and she had served them with the stew and bread that Mal was currently enjoying. His wife was as plain as the old man himself – Mal was struck again by their sheer normality of their appearance.

"You'll forgive me, but although you know our names, we haven't been formally introduced," said Inara, and the elderly lady nodded.

"Of course," said the man. "My name is Aaron, and this is my wife, Sylvia. I'm sorry about all of the confusion, but that's why you are here; so we can explain a few things."

"We appreciate that," said Inara. She nudged Mal with her elbow, and he looked up from his bowl.

"Yeah. 'Preciate it."

"I realise that we haven't explained much of anything yet, however maybe it would be best if you told us the story of how you arrived in our village."

Mal and Inara exchanged a hesitant glance, and the moment of indecision did not go unnoticed by the elderly couple. Mal started to speak, his hunger apparently satisfied before any of the others had even started to begin eating properly.

"We ran into some trouble with our ship," he said, not entirely untruthfully. "She crashed into the ocean, and we managed to escape in one of the shuttles. That also crashed, and that's when your man found us, lost in the wilderness."

"Quite the run of misfortune," said Aaron. "Well then, allow us to proceed."

"Our village is very reclusive," started Sylvia. "And names are very important to us. I'm sure Aaron insisted you tell him your names before he let you go free, and there is a reason for that."

"Yeah, it did seem a bit of a tenuous reason to let us go," commented Mal.

"Although we may seem normal," said Aaron, "This village rests upon some very strange ground. I don't know what you saw or heard while you wandered the wilderness, but if you ask any of the villagers here they can tell you stories of…_creatures_ that roam through the forest, and the people who accompany them."

"Creatures?" asked Inara, and Mal supposed she had felt the same chill work down her spine as he had done. 'Creatures' sounded awfully familiar.

"Yes," said Aaron. "They walk like men, however they have the strength of ten of our people."

Mal relaxed. This seemed like safer territory; superstitious nonsense rather than startling reality. Although he supposed that the story of the Night Stalker had seemed just a story before one had burst out of the chest of his old war buddy and destroyed his life.

"What about these strange people?" asked Inara.

"They stalk the forest also, and occasionally threaten our village. Once, long ago, one of the people came into our homes and dragged our friends out into the forest. They were never seen again, but the incident caused our cautiousness to grow. Now we send our own hunting parties into the forest, and they protect our village from any aggressors."

"Like us?" asked Mal, allowing some wry amusement to show on his face. Aaron seemed to get the small joke and smiled.

"Yes. Well. We can never be sure until we question the people the hunting parties bring back. We do not know much about the strange people we bring here, but they are fierce warriors and their capture is a rare event, often requiring many of our defenders to bring one back here. The only thing we have learned about them is that they have no name."

"No names?"

"No. That is the only thing common to each of the four people we have brought back here. Three men and one woman, each from a varying background. They refuse to speak to us except to tell us the answer to that one question."

"'What is your name?'" asked Inara, and Sylvia nodded.

Mal stared pensively into his bowl and Aaron looked at him insightfully.

"Seems like some of this might be familiar to you," he said to Mal, who was snapped out of his reverie. He smiled to cover his preoccupied expression.

"No. Not really. Say…when was the last time one of these people showed up at your village?"

Aaron and Sylvia exchanged a glance so like the one Mal and Inara had just experienced that they both looked at each other, mildly embarrassed. Neither of them wanted to acknowledge the similarity they might have to an old married couple.

"In fact…we have one of the strangers locked up right now," admitted Aaron, and Mal tried to keep his expression neutral. He lifted his spoon and started swirling the remnants of his stew around.

"Supposin' we were to go in and have a little talk with your guest?" he asked as innocuously as possible. Aaron stared at him for a moment, and then grinned openly at him.

"I wondered how long it'd take for you to ask," he said.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

They were led back to the row of doors opposite the open plan wall allowing a view of the village. On the way, Mal and Inara hung back slightly from Aaron and his wife, keeping up a discussion they held under their breaths.

"What do you think we're dealing with here? Sounds awfully familiar – a man with no name," said Inara.

"Right you are," said Mal, stooping slightly to keep on a level with Inara's hushed tone. "Seems to me like these villagers somehow gone and caught themselves an Operative. It'll be hard to get anythin' out of a man like that."

"You and I both know that from experience," said Inara. "It seems strange that there would be so many Operatives wandering around a backwater moon in such a short period of time, though."

"Maybe those stories about creatures roaming around in the forest aren't just stories?" suggested Mal, but then they reached the hut and had to cut their conversation short.

Rather than to the room they had been kept in, they were shown to a door closer to the stairs that led into the village.

Aaron smiled apologetically to Mal and shrugged slightly. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to lock you inside with our guest. He can get quite unruly at times."

Mal nodded. "That's fine. I should be able to handle it anyhow."

Inara stepped up beside him, preparing to enter the room. Mal shook his head at her.

"Nuh-uh. No way you're comin' inside this room with me," he said.

"Say it all you like. It might make it happen," she retorted. Mal drew a breath to argue with her, but she threw her most resolute stare at him. In the face of such defiance, all he could do was release the breath in a small chuckle.

"Hope you know what you're doin'," was all he said.

Aaron threw the final bolt across and swung the heavy door open. The room seemed uncomfortably dark, and Mal quickly saw why; all of the lamps had been extinguished. He exchanged one last look with Aaron, nodded, and then padded cautiously inside the room, Inara following behind him.

Once they were inside, the door was closed behind them and darkness surrounded them. Mal realised he had been mistaken – one lamp still flickered on the far side of the room, barely illuminating the figure who sat cross legged on the ground. His fingers were splayed out in a lotus position.

Mal edged slightly towards the figure, and Inara stayed by his side the whole time; not from fear, but to present a unified front to the stranger. Mal felt himself jump slightly when the figure unexpectedly spoke.

"As I told you before…I have nothing to say to you."

Mal relaxed slightly upon sensing the figure wasn't going to attack him imminently. "Figure you might change your mind, seein' as how we ain't with the villagers here."

The man opened his eyes and looked at Mal, and then Inara. But he did not move otherwise.

"Continue," he said.

"We know you're an Operative of the Alliance," stated Inara with confidence, but the villager's captive merely smiled; a smile that developed in the back of his throat into a low chuckle.

"What's so funny?" asked Mal, trying to maintain the high ground but failing slightly.

"I am not an Operative of the Alliance," said the man with no name. Mal and Inara exchanged a puzzled glance, however the man's next word threw up a whole world of questions about everything they were expecting from this man, and about the nature of the moon they currently inhabited.

"Yet."

_ A/N_

_Thanks to those who reviewed and read. _


	5. Day One: Lights In The Sky

**Day One**

**Lights In The Sky**

"Yet?" repeated Mal. But the captive of the village just lowered his eyes and refused to elaborate.

He turned and exchanged a look with Inara, who just shook her head minutely. He turned and banged on the door.

"Aaron, it's Mal," he called. "Let us out."

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"So he said nothing of use to you at all?" asked Aaron, seeking to confirm just what had transpired inside the small room. Mal remained tight lipped, and left Inara to deal with any questions.

"No, nothing of use," said Inara. "We thought he was one thing, but it turns out he isn't. I'm afraid we can't cast any light on the situation for you yet."

"Yet?" repeated Aaron, using what seemed to be the word of the hour.

"Yet," said Mal firmly. "Look, I know it's hard to be asked these things without gettin' anything back from us. But you're gonna have to trust us. Some of the stuff that happened to us is better off not bein' told. I know you're just lookin' out for you and yours, but believe me when I tell you that it's better that you not know. Because if we leave and someone comes lookin' for us, they ain't gonna stop with a simple question and answer session. They will burn this pretty little village to the ground and salt the earth if they even suspect you know what we do."

Aaron's face had darkened. "Are you threatening me, Captain?"

Mal's face was grim. "Ain't a Captain no more. And no. No threats. We don't mean you any harm, but we're tryin' to protect you from people who might."

"And I should accept this all on blind faith?"

Mal shrugged. "How 'bout this. You think I'm puttin' a foot wrong here, and you can kill us both. Deal?"

Inara shot him a look. "Both?" she demanded, and Aaron chortled by the startled tone of her voice.

"Believe me, my dear, I could never harm such a beautiful woman as you," he said, but then turned to Mal with a more serious glint in his eye. "You have a deal, Mal. But I'll hold you personally responsible for anything that might happen to us as a result of you being here."

Mal nodded. "Fair enough."

He took Inara gently by the shoulder and steered her away from Aaron, and they walked away from the structure housing the non-Operative.

"What did he mean?" asked Inara.

"C'mon Inara. You've been complimented by enough men to know what 'beautiful' means." She shot him a look that immediately silenced him. In his own way, he had been trying to make her feel better about the injuries she had sustained, but obviously in the wrong way. He swallowed a retort and instead answered her question properly. "Uh, I dunno. There's one too many 'yet's floatin' around for my liking."

"He's not an Operative…_yet_," said Inara, echoing the captive's words. "I think that's pretty straight forward."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Think about it. There are a lot of strange people running around the forest with no names, and the one they capture tells us he isn't an Operative yet. There must be a training facility here on this moon."

"For Operatives?" asked Mal, startled by the possibility. Inara nodded.

"It's the only thing that makes sense. They might be secret agents of the Alliance, but they must get their training somewhere, right? This moon is remote enough to house a secret facility that can do that without many interruptions. I mean, who here in this village is going to broadcast the whereabouts of such a facility to the 'verse?"

Mal's face was grim. "We are." He started to move away from the building. "C'mon."

Inara's brow creased with confusion. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"To find one of those hunting parties."

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"I got nothin' to say to you," said the burly man. He turned his back on Mal and returned to his cup of ale.

Mal turned back to Inara, who stood slightly to one side with a look of mild distaste on her face.

They stood in what resembled a pub, except with small embellishments. Straw littered the floor, which was stained with mud. The wooden bar looked very grimy, and the stew the man who had rejected to speak with Mal was eating looked decidedly unhealthier than the food they had been served by Sylvia. Mal shrugged and tried again.

He sat opposite the man and leaned forward, edging against the man's personal space. He stared up at Mal through his matted hair, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Look, friend," started Mal. "I ain't got a quarrel with you or your village. I just wanna ask you a few questions and then I'll be out of your life forever."

"You can skip the questions part and get out of my life forever right now," growled the man. "I'm hungry and I just wanna eat."

Mal glared back at the man, but Inara interjected before hostilities arose even further.

"Excuse my friend," she said with her most delicate smile. "He's had a tough couple of days." She took a seat between Mal and the giant of a man now observing her, his spoon caught halfway from being raised from the bowl to his mouth. "All he meant to say was that we hold a few concerns about the people you protect this village from. There's a chance we might be able to help you and this village keep them away from here, but first we need some information. Would you be able to help us out?"

The man's eyes were suspicious. "Why can't you just help us out now?"

Mal started to speak but Inara firmly stamped on his foot, keeping him quiet. She smiled again at the hunter. "Because we don't know exactly what we're dealing with. Any information you can give us will help us to narrow down what these people are doing, which will enable us to exact a better defence."

The man grunted. "Well…okay. If it's gonna help the village…I guess a few questions won't hurt."

Mal glanced at Inara, speaking without saying any words. _That's what I asked the guy in the first place!_

Inara returned the look with a similarly emotive expression. _You asked him the wrong way._

"Maybe you could start with what you know about these people?" asked Mal, and the man seemed willing to engage him in conversation now that he was associated with Inara.

"Not much. But there are things other than people running around out there. We never get more than a quick look at them, but we find the hunters they kill once every so often."

"Are there many deaths involved with your line of work?" asked Inara, looking concerned. The man nodded glumly.

"A fair share. But what can we do? Someone has to stand up for our village."

"You're very brave," said Inara genuinely, and Mal discovered that he had found some common ground with this man.

"I know how it feels," said Mal. "To be fightin' against an enemy who's got better weapons than you, and knowing that you're the only thing standin' between them and your home. But you fight anyway. Because if you don't, no one else will, and they'd just get to your home anyhow. And that is not acceptable."

The man's eyes had softened during Mal's small speech. "What happened?" he asked.

Mal coughed uncomfortably and shifted in his chair. "Uhm…well, we lost. And they got through to our homes. But the point is, you gotta stand up for what's right. Because you don't know until you try, right?"

The man was frowning, so Inara tried down a different tract before Mal talked him into quitting his current line of work.

"Tell us more about these people. Where do they sleep? What do they eat? How often do they appear to you?"

The man looked at her thoughtfully. "Funny you should mention it. Now that I think about it, they don't appear throughout the year. Once every few months there'll be a group of them, and then they die down again. They're only ever around for a few weeks at a time." He pursed his lips. "In fact, now that I think about it more, sometimes it's more'n a year between them showin' up, sometimes it's just a few months. No set pattern."

"What about these creatures?" enquired Mal. He was beginning to suspect that there may be some truth to the story.

The man shrugged. "Know even less about them as I do the people. Like I said, just glimpses in the night. They're always around the same time as the people, though. That I know for sure."

"Anything else you can tell us?" asked Mal, and the man looked conspiratorially around the bar. Mal and Inara leaned towards him on reflex, to better listen to the secret he was about to impart.

"Now don't tell any of the others this," he started in a low voice. "I'm not sure how many of the others have seen what I've seen, and I don't wanna alarm the rest of the villagers. Deep in the forest, there's a building made of steel. And once every so often, a ship lands on the roof. Only stays there a few hours at a time, and then its gone again. But last night, when I was out on my patrol, four ships landed around the building."

Mal's eyes widened appreciatively. "Four?" The man nodded.

"And they're still there, are far as I know. There's never been that many for so long. At least, while I've been there. But before that, there were some strange lights in the sky. When I saw them and decided I'd go and take a look at the building, see if anything was happening. Sure enough, there were the four ships."

"Do you have any idea what the lights were? What did they look like?" asked Inara. But the man shook his head.

"Sorry lady. I'm just a simple man who knows how to keep quiet and cover his tracks. Anything that lifts off into the air is a mystery to me. I've never been outside of this village for more than a few days in all my time."

"I can appreciate that, but could you at least describe what they looked like?"

He pondered. "I guess like shooting stars," he said finally. "But closer. Shooting stars are gone in a few seconds, but these lights were there for at least a minute, I'd say. And they were all movin' in separate directions, all fallin' towards different parts of the forest; but they were gone before I could figure exactly where. But I don't know. Like I said, I got no clue about stuff that flies through the air or falls down from the sky. But I'd stake my life on it; the lights in the sky and those ships are connected somehow."

Inara looked at Mal, another unspoken exchange passing between them. She looked back at the hunter.

"Thank you for talking to us. We'll leave you to your food."

"And my ale. Can't forget about that."

She smiled tolerantly at the display of typical masculinity, and then stood to leave.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"What do we do now?" asked Inara, squinting as she stepped out into the daylight outside the tavern. Mal followed her after holding the fabric covering aside for her, and he shrugged once he caught up to her.

"I'm not sure. I don't like the idea of goin' into that forest with all the talk we've been hearin'. And it sounds like the people lookin' for us are comin' from in there, so it's not the best idea, the two of us goin' against four ships worth of Alliance troopers. But the only other things are the lights in the sky. And we can't very well investigate them stuck on the ground here."

But whatever fell from the sky and made those lights fell in the forest," said Inara. "How are we going to go looking for whatever they were? Sounds like something was burning up in the atmosphere, from what that hunter told us. Maybe wreckage from an explosion?"

Mal shook his head. "If it was an explosion, there'd be nothin' left to go lookin' for. And 'sides, even if somethin' did fall down around these parts it'd be too damn difficult to find it."

"We could try looking for another village…there must be another settlement on this moon with a spaceport."

"Nah. It'd take months to find a boat on this lump of rock. There's nothin' worth comin' here for."

"Unless you happen to be an Operative trainee," input Inara.

"It's why the facility is here. Built where no one would ever want to come visit."

"Well we can't just sit here," said Inara, slightly exasperated with Mal's continual put-downs. Her new outlook on life was apparently sticking. Mal looked at her with respect; she had never been one to take things lying down, but the scarring on her face, he knew, affected her life possibly more so than losing Serenity had affected his. Her entire life depended on her ability to seduce, once you boiled it down to the base components, and the marring of her physical appearance would damage that ability. Mal himself didn't care one bit how Inara appeared, but he knew she inhabited a much shallower world than he did. Maybe this new development would make her finally see that. Although, she had used her feminine wiles on the hunter in the tavern to great effect, so who was Mal to say how much her ability was impaired?

But he didn't want to bring any of that up, because he knew she held the opposing belief that he did. Now wasn't the time for a debate on the merits of glorified prostitution.

"I think that's all we can do," he said, returning from his thoughts. "Sometimes it's the best option. I'm sure if we wait that somethin'll come up."

Inara raised her eyebrows. "That's awfully trusting to fate, Mal."

He shrugged. "Like I said; sometimes it's all you can do. Besides, there's an Alliance cruiser in orbit. All else fails, we can always hitch a ride with them."

"Don't be pessimistic," warned Inara. "It might come true."

"Hey, I was talkin' about a last resort option. Plan Z, if you will."

"Maybe there's a Plan B right in plain sight and we haven't realised it yet," said Inara, her eyes narrowing. Mal followed her gaze, confused.

"What? I can't see anything," he grumbled.

She pointed and he followed her finger. His eyes widened.

"Oh, clever girl," he said.

A small hut sat on the outskirts of the village, looking almost exactly like its companion huts but with one small difference. Its roof was pointed tall, while the others had domed, though much flatter coverings.

"Let's go check it out," prompted Inara, leading the way.

They found that the hut was unlocked and proceeded to let themselves in. Inside was a small bank of monitoring equipment, with an antenna reaching upwards towards the point in the roof. Inara looked back at Mal and grinned.

"So while we're sitting waiting for something to happen, at least we'll have something to listen to besides each other."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," said Mal, joining Inara inside the hut. He flicked a few of the controls and static filled the room. "Well then, let's see what we can hear."

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Hours later, after sifting through many layers of static and hearing many unrelated messages, transmissions and sensor echoes, the careworn couple came across something that was potentially interesting.

It was a garbled transmission at best, for the equipment they were using was neither the most advanced nor the newest, however they got the important parts.

"…escaped. Headin' towards…in the forest, bein' chased by…see if I can lose 'em. Keep in touch."

And that was all. In itself largely insignificant, however the voice in the transmission made it worthwhile.

"That's Jayne!" cried Inara, leaning towards the speaker built into the unit as if it would bring the transmission back. Mal was trying to alter the frequency they were listening to, in case whatever transmitter Jayne was using utilised a modulating frequency, however all he picked up was static. Finally he sat back, musing on the situation.

"That must be all he sent," he said.

"He's out there," said Inara excitedly. "If he's out there, then that could mean…"

Mal nodded. "The others have landed here too. He said he was bein' chased. They might need help."

"Do you think we should go help them?" asked Inara. Mal thought about it for a few seconds.

"We? No. I? Yes." Before she could contest the statement, he carried on talking. "You need to stay here and monitor these transmissions. If Jayne is out there then it means the others are too. He wasn't talkin' to nobody so that means two separate groups – at least – of our crew are out in that forest."

"But it's huge," argued Inara. "There's no way you'd happen to chance across them by accident. What happened to not being able to find anything? Now you're going to head off into that forest and blindly search for one man? I'd say an impact crater is more noticeable than Jayne." Mal gave her a steady look.

"Think about who we're talking about here. Jayne is about as subtle as a bomb going off. I'll find him – trust me."

"Well…okay," she conceded. "But I don't think you should be out there and running around on that knee of yours. Besides which the sun is already going down. It'll be night soon."

"Makes it easier to find Jayne," said Mal. "Sound travels three times farther at night, you know."

Inara sighed. "You're not going to change your mind about this, are you?" Mal shook his head.

"You know I'm right. Might not be the most sensible thing to do, but it needs to be done. Besides, we might shed some light on what the hell goes on in that forest."

He stepped outside the hut into the fading light of the day, Inara joining him in the doorway.

"Oh, and try and see if you can find out where they got this equipment," said Mal. "If they've got a listening post set up then who knows what else…"

Inara shushed him suddenly, listening intently elsewhere. Before Mal could be offended, he heard it too: sounds of a struggle on the far side of the village.

They both started to run at the same time, but Mal quickly fell behind due to his limping gait. He considered calling out to the Companion racing ahead of him, but any cry would reveal they were coming to those involved with the struggle. He decided against it and spurred himself on.

He rounded the hut on the outskirt of the village to reveal a tussle of three men rolling around on the ground, kicking up a small cloud of dust. Mal went to draw his pistol, but remembered that Aaron had confiscated it from him. He slowed to a stop next to Inara, who was watching the struggle with concerned eyes. Before he could speak, she barked an exclamation and ran to the tussle, Mal following her belatedly.

She pulled one of the villagers from the newcomer and he gave a startled cry as she did so. Another villager received a sharp kick to the arm, and he backed away, surprised by the attack and then again to see who had delivered it. With her actions, she had dissolved the physical struggle and the newcomer lay in the dirt, groaning softly. Mal's eyes widened as the dust cleared and he got a good look at him.

"Simon?" he asked, alarmed. The young doctor was rolled into a ball, chattering steadily to himself. Inara knelt to check his injuries. As she rolled him over, he could see his lip was swollen along with one of his eyes. He was coated in a mixture of what looked like dried blood and some kind of viscous yellow substance mixed with caked dirt. He trembled violently, as if he was cold, but the sun had warmed the day to a comfortable temperature.

"What's the matter with him?" he asked Inara, stooping to assist the woman if he could. She could only look helplessly at Simon.

"I don't know," she said, but then Simon's chattering became an audible mutter.

His eyes focussed on Mal's. "Creatures," he said, not himself. "Things. In the forest." Then his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he succumbed to the effects of whatever the villager's defenders had injected him with.

Mal met Inara's troubled gaze as they lifted him from the ground.

"What the hell is going on here?" he asked.

Unable to answer him, Inara helped lift the doctor further into the village. The sun set on the horizon, and another day ended for the survivors of the Serenity.

_A/N:_

_Thanks to those who read, and to mbali, MAndrews and Dr Gero for your reviews. Glad it was an enjoyable read for you, Dr, and I won't keep you in suspense much longer about what happened to everyone!_


	6. Day Zero: The Captured Quartet

**Day Zero**

**The Captured Quartet**

"Sir," called one of the junior operators on the bridge. The Operative turned from his self satisfied study of the stars to listen to whatever report he was about to make.

"Yes?"

"We've got another contact on the moon," he said. "It's the second shuttle."

The Operative frowned. This was unwelcome news. If the shuttle had managed to escape with people on board, then that threatened the sanctity of this operation. It meant that the destruction of the Firefly class vessel was not complete, which in turn meant that it was possible the xenomorph could have survived.

Along with members of the ship's crew.

A female voice echoed from the rear of the bridge. "Life signs?"

The Operative stood to strict attention as the female stalked past him to address the junior operator, the rest of the crew present following suit. He flushed slightly, unwilling for it to be seen that his plan had not succeeded with total efficiency. The junior nervously swallowed as he addressed the newcomer.

"Just one," he said. "We only managed to pick it up as it was nearing the atmosphere."

"Where is it heading?" she asked, her cold blue eyes boring into the junior's skull. He managed to resist fidgeting through nerves, because that would mean breaching his attention and facing the consequences.

"Right for us."

She turned to stare from the window, much like the Operative himself. Her long black hair shimmered in the light as she moved, and her body tensed, as if she were readying to leave the ship and hunt for the shuttle herself.

"Prepare the troops," she told the Operative. "And bring that shuttle into the docking bay. I don't like surprises."

"So I'm beginning to learn," he said, and moved to carry out his orders.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"I don't give a damn about me. I was never much good at anything 'sides fightin'." Tears stung at Zoe's eyes slightly. "And I've lost the only thing I cared about more than everything else in all the 'verse. But I'll be damned if this is the end of you. You're better'n this."

Kaylee seemed to understand what Zoe was saying and she stepped back, nodding at the egg that had emerged inside her cell. Rather than focus on her own forthcoming struggle, Zoe concentrated as long as she could on Kaylee – not that she really believed in such things, but trying to send some kind of positive energy towards the engineer. If she could help in any way, then she would.

Finally, as some sound distracted her from Kaylee, her eyes settled upon the ovoid that had come up through the deck in her own cell. Her hands were relatively free in front of her to engage the creature that would emerge from the egg, but she quickly got a flash of inspiration. She dropped to her knees as the egg started to twitch and started to unlace the strings of fabric securing her boot to her foot.

Working as fast as she could, she felt the calm of battle settle upon her. It was how she figured she had survived for so long during the war along with the Captain. While other soldiers around her drove themselves into a frenzy, or whipped themselves with nervous energy, all she felt was a deathly calm. And it was that calm that allowed her to coolly assess any situation she happened to find herself in, and act appropriately. There were exceptions, of course – bar fights being the most noticeable, where she allowed herself to feel unbound rage. But they weren't a serious affair like this. Hardly anyone died at a bar fight, and she supposed that most everyone who had set foot inside this cell had wound up facing a grisly end.

The boot flew off her foot just as the egg fully opened and the fingers of the creature started to test the air outside it. A quick glance sideways revealed that the monster in Kaylee's cell was already free, but that the girl was evading its attacks smoothly.

Nodding approvingly, Zoe hoisted her boot up over her shoulder and squared herself to strike. The creature burst from the egg, seeking her face, but Zoe timed the strike carefully and let loose with all of her collected energy. She swung with all her might and connected solidly with the creature in mid air, sending it thumping into the bulkhead. It slid back down towards the floor and almost shivered, as if it was shaking off the impact.

Zoe squared her feet and braced herself against the next attack. She didn't know enough about how the creature fought to press the offensive, but she was equally uncertain on whether or not just waiting it out was wise.

The creature chose for her, scrabbling across the grate and towards her feet. Zoe swung the boot down onto its back with the aim of crushing it, however it was much hardier than it appeared. The strike appeared to do no appreciable damage and it continued on towards her feet after recovering.

She skipped backwards, desperately avoiding its advance. She had previously told the others in a dramatic public statement that she no longer had anything to live for, but Zoe's survival mechanism wasn't that far along gone that she would just lie on her back and allow herself to be consumed by this creature. Besides, she might not want to live that much, but dying like that was something she would like to avoid.

She knew that the Alliance guards had confiscated all of her hidden weapons, so she had to figure out another way to kill this thing. Her boot probably wasn't going to be enough to finish it, so she had to either find a better weapon, or improve the offensive capability of her current armament.

She decided on the latter, because the cell, as far as she could see, contained only herself, the creature and its abandoned egg. A new weapon was not immediately obvious to her, so she had to make do with what she had.

She brought the boot down onto the back of the creature again, connecting with it solidly. She kicked it with her booted foot, sending it soaring across the cell into the bulkhead again.

Which was when she got an idea.

"Screw this," she muttered under her breath, and raced towards where the creature had slid down onto the deck.

She started to batter the monster as it hit the deck, relentlessly striking it again and again before it could fully recover. Her only idea was that the best defence was a good offence, and she pressed the most violent offensive she could deliver. The chain that tied her to the bulkhead whipped and cracked with each strike, striking the deck and the bulkhead with dull metallic reports.

She altered the aim of her boot so that the steel plated toe was at the fore and started to pummel it onto the back of the creature, giving no thought to her own defence. The monster was starting to bleed yellow acidic blood through cracks that had appeared on its exoskeleton. It emitted a high-pitched shriek as she hit it with her hardest strike yet, and then it lay still, its innards exposed to Zoe's attack. Her boot hissed and smoked violently as soon as it had come into contact with the fluid inside the organism, and she had to remove it from her hand as it ate through the steel there. She exclaimed in alarm as sharp pinpricks of pain rippled across her torso, and a closer inspection revealed that small globules of the yellow substance had peppered her clothes as she had attacked it, the fluid spraying up as she had battered the monster.

A cry from the opposing cell alerted her back to the present, and she ran to the perspex separating the two captives. The chain holding her in place snapped back, stopping her from reaching the divider, and she struggled against it

Kaylee staggered back, falling over the egg in her cell and striking her head against the bulkhead. The creature almost skipped along her body, crawling up her torso and skittering towards her face. Bile rose in the back of Zoe's throat as she foresaw what lay in store for Kaylee, and she started to batter the separator with her booted foot, wailing unintelligibly to rouse Kaylee to a further defence. The creature reached her neck, and Zoe looked away; not from fear at seeing Kaylee consumed by the monster, but because she'd had enough of being a powerless bystander.

She returned to the corpse of the creature, which had started to sink down into the deck with the corrosive fluid leaking out of it, and dipped her manacles into the open wound. The metal started to hiss and smoke as the acid burned away at the restraining devices, and Zoe winced as some of the fluid edged onto her wrists. Fortunately no more acid reached her skin than to give her surface burns, and after several prolonged moments the restrainers snapped open and her hands were free.

But she wasn't finished with the creature yet. She carefully lifted it by the finger, recoiling at the touch of its leathery hide, and swung it to impact onto the divider separating the two women. Within moments it had started to dissolve, spitting and putting forward acrid fumes, and by careful manipulation of the creature Zoe created a hole big enough for her to squeeze through without burning herself on the periphery.

Coughing as the fumes hit her face, she clambered through into the opposing cell and rushed to Kaylee's side. A sob caught in her throat as she reached the engineer.

The creature had pulled itself completely onto her face, and one of Kaylee's hands lay on it in what must have been a last attempt to defer it from its relentless assault. Immediately Zoe was kneeling by her side, trying to lever the organism from her face with her fingers, but the creature's only response was to tighten its hold on Kaylee's neck. Realising that this was a defensive mechanism of the creatures, Zoe had no choice but to cease in her efforts to remove it from Kaylee.

If she tried to prise it from her, it would choke her to death. If she killed it, it would leak acid and kill Kaylee. She sat back, leaning against the bulkhead, trying to think of an alternative that didn't end in the engineer's death.

But then she realised that no guards had entered the cell to subdue her. Surely there should be someone observing her, and the display she had put on would be enough to rouse even the least attentive watcher's attention. She moved to the door and placed her ear against it, and she could make out a faint noise that gave her both hope and a feeling of dread simultaneously.

An alarm was sounding outside; a relentless drone that was only barely audible in the soundproofed cells.

Something tapped on the other side of the door three times. Zoe immediately backed away from it, anticipating the entry of dozens of armed guards. Instead, a sharp blast assaulted her ears and the door swung open slowly, a fine mist of smoke filtering in from outside.

"Hello?" called Zoe cautiously. The door swung open fully to reveal the perpetrator of the explosion. River stepped into the cell, Simon and Jayne standing behind her looking shaken.

"Come on," said River, holding out her hand. Zoe backed away from the girl, shaking her head. If she was surprised to see the girl, she didn't show it.

"Not yet. You didn't get here in time for one of us," she said indicating the rear of the cell. Simon's eyes widened and he rushed to Kaylee's side.

"Oh my God," he muttered repeatedly. He went through exactly the same process Zoe had; he tried to prise the creature from her face, only to discover that any such attempt would result in her strangulation. Finally he sat back from her body, the others standing around him.

"What the hell is that thing?" asked Jayne, his face screwing up in disgust. Zoe glared at him.

"You didn't get the same treatment over there in your own cell?" she demanded, and Jayne shook his head.

"Wonder Girl over there broke us out 'fore anything could get us. It's one of those things, ain't it?"

Zoe nodded, and moved the conversation forward before Jayne made her spell out the implications for Kaylee's life. She turned to River.

"How did you get here?" she demanded. "Where are the Captain and Inara?"

"Took the shuttle," replied River, staring abstractedly at the decking. "Needed to make lights in the sky."

"Do you think we can get a straight answer out of her?" Zoe asked Simon, but he could only shrug. Jayne stepped forward.

"All I know is, she comes burstin' through the door to the cell with alarms blazin' behind her. All the guys outside are dead or out of it."

"Good," approved Zoe. "Because they're the ones who did this to Kaylee." An unholy anger was burning inside of her, and she needed to satisfy it with blood. "We need to take out this ship."

"What do you mean, 'take it out'?" asked Simon, snapping out of his reverie. Zoe met his gaze evenly.

"Blow it up. Crash it. Otherwise destroy the vessel. This can't go on."

Simon looked as though he were about to argue, but then he looked back down at Kaylee's prone figure. He said nothing.

Jayne was fidgeting near to the doorway. "Whatever we do, we can't stay here much longer. Every trooper on the ship'll be lookin' for us."

"I wouldn't worry about them," said River calmly. "I made enough of them go away when I arrived."

Zoe shot River a glance. "You know how we can destroy this ship?" she asked, and River finally met her eyes.

"Can't. Won't. Doesn't matter what they did to us, we have to leave."

Zoe glowered in reply. "I'm not leavin' this place 'til I know they can't do this to anyone else."

"They won't."

"How can you be so sure?"

"They'll be too busy looking for us," said River, a gleam finding its way into her eyes. "Don't worry. I know how to make it so they won't be thinking about this place for a long time."

"And what will you do?" demanded Zoe.

River looked away again. "She's looking for us now. She knows where we are. We need to start running from her, because if she catches us she'll make it so this place seems like heaven."

Jayne snorted at the doorway. "Good enough for me. I say we get the hell outta here. There's about infinity guards between us and the dockin' bay; we need to get goin'."

"Don't any of you care?" demanded Simon suddenly. They turned to cast a surprised eye upon him. "Kaylee is lying here with one of those…_things_ attached to her face, and all you care about is retribution or escape. Don't you know what this means for her? What she'll have to endure?" Tears crept into his eyes. Zoe looked at him, subdued.

"He's right," she said, the anger leaking out of her. "We have to do what's best for Kaylee, and that means getting off the ship. We can deal with the Alliance later."

"Well gorram it, we'd better do somethin' right now, 'cause I can hear them comin' down the corridor," said Jayne hurriedly. River rushed past him back into the corridor and worked one of the consoles. Zoe snapped into action.

"Jayne, get Kaylee," she said. "I don't wanna hear anything about bein' near that thing attached to her; it's more worried about her than you right now, and you'd do well to follow its example." Surprisingly, without saying a word Jayne had stooped to sling the engineer over his shoulder and was out of the cell before Zoe herself. She picked up Simon by the arm and headed out with him.

"Keep it together," she instructed him tersely, retrieving a rifle from a weapons cabinet nearby. Obviously there were concerns for the safety of the scientists should one of the organisms escape, because the room was littered with all manner of weaponry. It's a shame whoever had designed the lab hadn't taken into account what River Tam was capable of – a shame for the Alliance, at least. For the crew, it meant that they were armed to the teeth in a matter of moments.

"Woah – wait!" exclaimed Jayne, forgetting his prior impatience to leave. He patted his trousers and then visibly relaxed, pulling something from his back pocket.

"What?" asked Zoe shortly, but he just smiled.

"I guess I'll have to say goodbye to Vera," he said, "But this I couldn't have done without." One handed, he pulled the hat his mother had sent to him over his head, the other keeping Kaylee in place over his shoulders. Zoe frowned at him, and then moved to the entrance to the lab.

"We ready?" she asked, and without waiting for a reply moved out into the corridor.

Movement caught in the corner of her eye, and immediately she raised the rifle and started to fire at the assailants, ushering the others outside as she covered them. The approaching guards scattered behind sparse cover as River marched out ahead, leading the way through the nondescript white corridors. Jayne followed her, trusting blindly in her navigational ability. Even if the corridors hadn't looked exactly the same, he probably wouldn't remember the way back because of the manner of their capture. They had all been too surprised to pay much attention to anything.

She took a sudden sideways turn, producing something from her dress and swiping it against a small black patch on the wall. The white bulkhead swung backwards in on itself, revealing it to be a doorway. She looked back at the others.

"Wait here," she instructed, vanishing down the new corridor. Zoe's eyes widened in surprise, but the sound of many footsteps echoing from the direction they had come from silenced her. She cursed under her breath and levelled the rifle back down the corridor.

"Wait here?" repeated Jayne. "What in the good gorram is she doing?"

Simon disappeared down the corridor wordlessly as Zoe and Jayne opened fire, following his sister. River was working at a console halfway down the deserted corridor, which looked as though there were doors built into it at regular intervals. They had receded back into the bulkheads when River had activated the first device.

"What are you doing, River?" asked Simon, but she ignored him, only looking up when he touched her arm and repeated the question.

"We need one more," she said, and part of the bulkhead opened behind them. Startled, Simon jumped back from the console, cautiously working his way towards it to see what it was River wanted inside. The girl walked past him and stepped inside, what it turned out to be, the cell.

It was strikingly similar to the white room they had been taken to when they had first been brought on board the vessel. A solitary figure lay slumped in the middle of the cell beyond the transparent barrier, which rose up into the ceiling when River approached it. She looked back at her brother.

"Help him," she said. The man stirred slightly, but did not move appreciably. Simon joined his sister at his side, and checked his pulse rate. It was unsteady at best.

"Do you know what happened to him?" he asked River, who looked almost amused by the question.

"Zap," was all she said.

The man groaned and rolled over onto his back, and that is when Simon realised he knew who he was.

"Andrews," he said. "This is the man who contacted Mal just after…after that thing came out of Harvey."

River nodded, looking at him as though he were deranged. "Obviously. Bring him." With that she walked back out of the cell, leaving Simon to hoist the injured man onto his shoulder, helping him to stagger out after his sister. Within a few metres of walking the corridor Andrews seemed to find his gait and they made much better progress.

Jayne and Zoe were still firing down the corridor, but River emerged from the corridor and changed the game entirely. She ripped a pistol from Jayne's belt and ran back down the way they had came, blasting rounds from the weapon's chamber. Simon risked a peek around the door to see that she was wiping out their pursuers with extreme prejudice, and he found that this shocked him. While he knew River had been programmed with such behaviour, he found it disturbing that she be so ruthlessly efficient dealing out death while maintaining a completely neutral emotional state.

Zoe, however, did not share his concern. "Let's go!" she called, slapping Jayne on the shoulder to make sure the order got through to him. She started moving backwards, away from their vantage point, and noticed that Simon was no longer alone.

"Who's the newcomer?" she asked.

"Remember Andrews?" asked Simon, and the man he supported grunted slightly. Zoe nodded and reloaded her weapon.

Suddenly there was a cry from behind them. "Simon!"

The corridor around them dissolved, doorways coming out of nowhere, and guards pouring out of them. There were immediately at least three guns aimed at Simon; one pressed to his temple, one jutting into his back and the other aimed vaguely at his chest. Guards encircled them, and Simon saw Zoe give up her weapon out of the corner of his eye. Some of the troops passed through their circle in the direction of the call River had made just before the attack; six in number, proceeding very carefully.

One of the troops stood out from the rest; clearly an officer. He stood proudly before his captives, down the corridor at River who stood staring at the assembled group as if possessed.

"Ms Tam!" he called. "I have your friends held captive. If you do not surrender immediately, I'll be forced to take action I'd rather try and avoid. So you see, it's all up to you. The ball's in your court. Let's not make this messy, shall we?"

Several of the guards approached River very slowly and very cautiously, obviously having been briefed about the capabilities of the girl. The nearest trooper reached forward and slowly removed the pistol from River's grasp, holstering it in his belt much as Jayne had done with it. They surrounded her, weapons raised, fingers tense on the trigger and with one of them preparing a set of cuffs that would restrain her movements.

But River wasn't paying any attention to that. All she could see was the gun pressed to Simon's head. She quivered, gently at first, but more violently as the seconds passed. There was a gun pressed to Simon's head. _They were sticking a gun up against her brother's head and threatening to shoot._

It was as though her reaction to the situation was so extreme that it took a few moments, to at first register, and then to build up her emotion to an appropriate level to match. Her fists clenched slowly and the shaking reached a crescendo. A growl built up in the back of her throat, a terrible, dangerous sound, and the trooper approaching her from behind was the first to realise what was going to happen. He looked sideways to warn his accomplices, but by then it was too late.

River's fist snapped backwards, connecting solidly with his throat. He staggered backwards, knocking another of the soldiers off balance. At the same time her other hand locked around the wrist of a guard to her right, pulling him towards her. On reflex he squeezed the trigger of his weapon and several rounds blasted out, lacing the chest of his opposite. Two of the three bullets penetrated his body armour, and he collapsed back against the bulkhead, dead. She drove her forehead into the guard she was pulling towards her, crushing his nose and sending him unconscious.

With the momentum from that attack, she had kicked out and driven her foot into another guard, and then span around to face the soldier she had originally attacked. Her arm wrapped around his neck, and she pulled him in front of her in time to have him take the bullets fired by the fifth guard. She hoisted the guard she was holding and shoved his body towards the soldier firing at her, lifting the pistol from the belt of the dead trooper he had confiscated from her as his body fell away from her. It was driven into the face of a guard behind her, and then she started to fire.

She whirled the pistol about, firing almost at random. The four soldiers left alive each received a bullet, and then she swung the pistol towards Simon and the others, who hadn't even had the proper time to react to the situation. The officer just stood and spluttered, as if the possibility that River could overwhelm six of his men at once hadn't occurred to him.

She fired rapidly across the corridor, bringing the pistol in a sideways horizontal arc. She passed it across, once, right to left, and did not bring it back. Simon lost count of how many times she did fire, but it almost faded away from him as he met River's eyes.

They were filled with a dark, primal rage. Even in the throes of being consumed by the programming the Alliance had instilled in her, Simon had never seen his sister like this. Always she had been clinical and detached, her normal personality appearing to be repressed beneath a layer of programmed behaviour – something he had just moment ago been shocked by. But that was nothing to do with River; namely, he was shocked that someone had forced this upon his sister, and was angry that she must endure it because of their actions. What she did was outside of her control.

But this was new. Something dark. Something…Simon had never encountered before. It had entered River's power to feel emotion while doing this, and that made it her own action – it made it personal. The intensity of the anger that almost physically burned from her eyes filled him with fear, and so for the first time in his life, he found himself genuinely afraid of someone he loved. Suddenly he wasn't so sure that the bullets tearing from the muzzle of the pistol in his sister's hands had avoided him; suddenly it became a very real possibility that one of them had ripped through his heart, and his body hadn't registered the damage yet.

But a second after River had stopped firing, the bodies started to hit the floor. There was a mass shuffling of material surrounding them and muffled thuds as the guards slumped to the deck, and the only ones left standing were people he knew. That, he assured himself, was proof enough that he hadn't been shot by his own sister, because he was still standing.

But awfully, and almost instinctively, his eyes sought out his chest, scanning his body for punctures. Of course, there were none, but something in his sister's eyes had made him doubt his own sanctity when dealing with her, which he had always felt safe doing; that even in the throes of a programmed attack, his personal connection to her would override it and he would be safe.

And even to look at her now, almost completely back to normal, he started to doubt himself, blaming it on the heat of the moment, making himself gaze at her eyes and see the innocence inside her.

But he knew. And _she_ knew. A moment passed that seemed to destroy some level of trust between them, and River almost started to look hurt, when Zoe grabbed his arm and shoved him on his way down the corridor.

"C'mon, Doc, let's go!" she exclaimed, and the moment was gone, replaced by the now.

"Where are we goin'?" called Jayne, Kaylee swinging from his shoulders as they ran. Simon almost retched at the sight of the monster that had attached itself to her face, and guiltily he had to look away. He _would_ find a way to cure her, but first they needed to get off this ship – which, for the first time ever, Jayne had pre-empted him by asking the sensible question first.

"Gorram it!" came the cry from up ahead. Simon rounded a small turn in the corridor to see Jayne kicking a sealed bulkhead. It was a dead end.

"This must lead out of this restricted area," surmised Zoe. The bulkhead was some kind of blast door, pitted, worn and rusted. It didn't fit well with the appearance of everything else they had seen thus far; namely, pearly white.

"We need to get through there," said River. Zoe scowled at her.

"Got any suggestions?" she asked sarcastically, but River was already walking towards the blast door. Footsteps were echoing up the corridor again, ensuring they had no effective escape.

River placed her hand on the door. "We need to make it go…"

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

_**BOOM!**_

No sooner had the explosion cleared did River erupt from the hole in the blast door, created by the explosives they had secured from the lab they had just escaped from. All guns blazing, River cut a swath through the guards on the other side, ushering the others through after her.

The main docking bay, for that was where the blast door led to, was suddenly a chaotic mess of activity. Caught completely by surprise, the assembled Alliance troopers and engineers scattered in the face of such extreme violence; first the explosion, and then by the young girl mowing them down with deadly accuracy.

Jayne emerged through the hole next, firing off his rifle one handed while hoisting Kaylee back onto his shoulders. He steadied the engineer with his other hand, covering the small gaps River lay exposed to, while Simon struggled with Andrews through the gap.

"Move it along, Doctor!" shouted Zoe from the other side, gunfire trying to drown out her words as troopers tried to rush her from the way they had come from.

The guards in the docking bay had had enough time to regroup and pressed back forward on the offensive, driving River and Jayne behind the cover of a fighter that was undergoing some kind of repair. It suddenly needed much more patching up as it was riddled with holes.

Simon staggered from the hole in the blast door, half dragging the injured Andrews with him. He fell to the deck next to his sister, leaning Andrews against the hull of the fighter.

With a warrior's cry, Zoe emerged from the hole, firing back through it as she went, and the yell formulated into a coherent sentence after several seconds.

"Jayne, grenade!"

The mercenary produced the required item, pulled the pin out of it and tossed it to Zoe, who in turn immediately threw it through the gap. She ducked and covered her ears as flame erupted from the remains of the blast door, and then she scrambled to join the others behind the fighter.

"Report!" she cried over the combined sounds of the gunfire and the crackling fire behind them.

"We're rutted," grunted Jayne. "There's your report!"

"She's coming," said River, Zoe was amazed to hear, with a slight edge of fear in her voice. She frowned and peeked out over the side of the fighter, and saw that across the docking bay a large contingent of troops was entering with two figures at its centre. One was the man who had thrown them into the cells that River had found them in, and the other was a strange woman. She was dressed similarly to the Operative she stood to the side of; perhaps she was the woman River kept enigmatically referring to?

In any case, their primary objective was perfectly clear to Zoe: kill the son of a bitch who had done this to Kaylee dead, any means necessary.

She tensed to stand up, but River placed a restraining hand on her arm. The girl shook her head at the first mate.

"No. You wouldn't survive it."

Zoe all but shrugged. "So?" She went to stand again, but River became more forceful. Zoe shot an outraged glance at the girl.

"Don't help her like this," she insisted. "You need to get her off this ship. If you go after him, Kaylee will die. She's nearly here."

The reasoning behind River's words was patently clear, and Zoe knew all too well what the consequences of her actions would probably be. But she ever so badly wanted to see the look on that smug Operative's face as she squeezed the very life from his body; to know that the last thing he would see would be her smiling face.

But the reality of the situation appealed to Zoe's calmer side. With regret, she suppressed her darker instincts and did what was best for the team; getting off the cruiser.

"The shuttle?" she asked River, clearly unhappy with her decision to escape. The shuttle from the Serenity lay on the far side of the docking bay, surrounded by dead bodies – the product of River's arrival, no doubt. Alternatively, the first shuttle, the one Zoe and the others had arrived on, was located more centrally, though it was covered with biohazard tarpaulin. But the girl shook her head.

"No, over there. The escape pods. We need to make lights in the sky."

"Enough with the lights in the sky," grumbled Jayne. "You got an idea that gets those hundred or so Alliance soldiers off our back?"

Of course River did. She scaled the ladder she crouched in front of and climbed into the cockpit of the fighter. Jayne's eyes widened as Zoe backed off immediately.

"Look out!" she cried. The fighter roared to life, and Jayne shot a lopsided grin at Simon.

"Looks like someone left the keys in," he commented. Simon shot him a look, unsure how to take the remark. Could Jayne be trying to mend the gap that had yawned between them since Serenity had been destroyed? Would that mean Jayne was capable of first, remorse, and second of being willing of taking the first step to reconciliation? But then he looked away, and Simon shrugged off the thought. It _was_ Jayne, after all. He was probably reading too much into it.

"_Go!_" screamed River from the fighter's open cockpit as she activated the weapons systems. High calibre rounds burst from the two cannons mounted at the front of the small craft, lacing through other pieces of machinery that littered the docking bay. Zoe made for the bank of escape pods on the far bulkhead as soon as River opened fire, taking full advantage of the confusion in the enemy ranks. Jayne was out behind the cover next, finding it necessary to add his own weapons fire to the deafening reports coming from the front of the fighter. Simon hesitated a moment before joining Zoe; what about River?

But he staggered out, supporting Andrews' full weight with him. Zoe stood keenly observing the rest of the bay halfway between the fighter and the escape pods, and ahead of them, Jayne was just reaching the bank. He lay Kaylee on the ground before him and prepared to open one of the tubes.

Unseen, across the docking bay, only one person was unfazed by River's supreme display of violence. The mysterious dark haired woman stood defiantly in the face of the rogue fighter, instead producing a small, compact rifle from behind her. She knelt down and raised the rifle sight to her eye as all around her, her comrades cowered behind whatever sparse cover they could find or were simply mown down by the awesome power of the high calibre weaponry.

In the rifle's scope, she took in the sight of River Tam, shielded by the cockpit of the fighter. Of the first mate of Serenity, also kneeling, mostly obscured behind the cover of a forklift gravtruck. Of the mercenary and the engineer near the bank of escape pods, struggling to open the hatch that led to freedom. And of the doctor, struggling with the dead weight of the captive Independent, staggering towards the bank of escape pods.

She smiled then, zooming in further with the electronic display. Simon Tam loomed closer through the scope, the crosshairs dancing across his head and torso. She tracked his unsteady movement carefully and with great proficiency, just as he reached the bank of escape pods and dropped the captive to the ground, breathing unsteadily, looking up at the mercenary as if he were just about to assist in activating the bay of escape pods, she levelled the crosshairs at his chest, and fired.

Simon lurched backwards, stunned by the impact of something that hit his chest. He fell to his knees, and then down onto his front as he spun around. He vaguely heard Zoe cry out his name, but the world suddenly seemed to have faded away a little. The escape pods whirred beside him, and then there were strong hands pulling him up, searching his body for injury. Finding something on his torso.

In the periphery of his vision, he saw Jayne lift Kaylee and slide her into one of the escape pods. The light flashed green and there was a dull _thump_ as the pod was ejected into space. Jayne repeated the motion with Andrews, but Simon had stopped paying attention to him. He looked to his side, ignoring Zoe shouting at him, to see how River was doing.

The girl was vaulting from the cockpit of the fighter, firing wildly to the side with an Alliance rifle. He wanted to tell her that it was going to be okay; that he would look after her, that he was sorry for doubting her earlier, but the words wouldn't come, and she was too far away to hear them had he spoken them.

Another set of hands lifted him up from under his arms, and he was being loaded into the small cylinder of an escape pod. The dull _thump_ he had heard earlier suddenly became a deafening eruption as the explosive bolts built into the pod shot it into space, rattling him around inside with the strength of the g-forces tearing at his body. Then, blissfully, he passed out. Or died. He wasn't really sure. But it was nice.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

The woman watched with mild amusement as the first mate and the mercenary laid down a withering hail of fire to cover the approaching River Tam, but in the face of several hundred troops they were not going to last any more than a number of minutes. She waved the soldiers under her command forward, and they began a slow advance across the docking bay, intent on crushing the life from this small rebellion. One of the heavy weapons troopers moved ahead from the rest of the group, hoisting a rocket launcher. The woman arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. Perhaps ballistic missiles were engaging in overkill slightly, but that _was_ River Tam on the far side of the docking bay. She allowed the team to continue.

They aimed carefully, but River stopped dead in her mad dash to reach the others. They called out to her, but she spotted the heavy weapons squad immediately; perhaps seeing them before she had even seen them with her eyes. The trooper with the launcher was slapped on the head by his team mate twice, and he squeezed the large weapon he had hoisted on his shoulder. The rocket erupted from the squad, right for River.

The girl did not run from the weapon; no, of course not. It was naïve of the woman to have thought she would. Instead she took several paces towards it, hoisted her foot and then kicked a small crate, which doubtlessly contained some kind of repair tools, straight for the rocket. It struck the side of the missile, and the explosive shell arched in its course heading towards the girl. It impacted the far bulkhead in a burst of flame, sending shards of shrapnel flying across the bay. River sprinted back to her crewmates, and the mercenary vaulted into one of the pods. The first mate met the eyes of the woman from across the bay, and once River had effortlessly and gracefully leapt into one of the tubes, the first mate was gone after her. They had all escaped, no doubt blazing through the atmosphere at this very moment as the friction of entry sparked violent flame around the capsule of the escape pods.

Rather than being annoyed, the woman gave but a small smile as the Operative barked orders beside her, setting the troops scrambling in a desperate bid to carry out his orders. She only intervened when he issued one specific order.

"…and contact weapons control; shoot those escape pods down."

"No," she said forcefully. The Operative and his subordinate gave her a surprised look, but the Operative immediately complied.

"Belay that last order," he commanded, and the officer snapped a salute to him before rushing to complete his orders. The Operative turned back to the woman, his brow furrowed in a silent question. She gazed at him evenly. Finally, he voiced the inquiry.

"You're letting them go?" he asked.

"Yes. Temporarily."

"May I be as bold as to ask why?"

"Of course." She stepped to an observation port and looked out at the stars. She enjoyed the sight of the endless expanse of space; it calmed her, allowing her to compose her often seething thoughts. She had noticed it was a habit the other Operative was picking up from her. He stepped to join her at the port, and she continued talking.

"If you think Malcolm Reynolds is dead, then you are deluded," she stated. "If River Tam escaped from that ship, then there is no doubt in my mind that Reynolds and the Companion are down on that moon somewhere."

"Is that why you tagged her brother?" he asked, and she nodded.

"The best course of action is to track their movements from a distance and wait until they rendezvous. River is likely the only one who knows where Reynolds is, and of all those who have just escaped the one she will absolutely not leave behind is her brother. We wait until they have all gathered in one place…and then eliminate them."

The Operative nodded, subdued. "Forgive me. I lost track of the bigger picture. I should have simply destroyed their vessel over Hera. This was all avoidable."

She shook her head curtly. "Do not doubt your prior actions. They will merely distract you from your current task. Remember; the Parliament does not care if there are any survivors or trophies. In your assignments, you must remember this. Often, annihilating a target is the better choice than capturing them. That way, there are no witnesses; which is infinitely better than leaving some alive, even if they are in our custody."

"I merely thought there could be some other avenue I may have missed that would require questioning the targets."

"And you were right in that. Andrews had contacted Reynolds before you intercepted the ship, thus creating more witnesses. But that is all irrelevant now. Past actions are just that; past, and we cannot change them. Do not get into the habit of over-analysing them, because you will make more mistakes."

"I appreciate the guidance you are giving me," said the male to the more experienced Operative. "This has been an enlightening experience."

The female Operative nodded to signify she accepted his thanks. "Strange that we have returned to the place you completed your physical training in order to complete your final evaluation," she said, looking out onto the moon.

A dark look passed over his eyes. "Yes. I bear many scars from this place. Perhaps the training facility will do our work for us; not many survive that forest."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." She turned to face him. "Do not make another error of judgement like the one I have just corrected. I will continue to offer you guidance while we work together; I remember how trying my first assignment was. However I do not have the patience to continue to rectify ineptitude. I will not allow your assignment to interfere with my own. I have granted you, at times, full control of Project Nightmare, however now it approaches the point where your task of neutralising the crew of that Firefly will threaten the existence of Nightmare. You were given the task of finding a misplaced crate, and it has boiled over to this," she said, indicating the destruction spread across the docking bay. "Another in my position would see this as an infringement upon my own assignment to protect Nightmare. You are fortunate that I am so…flexible. Fate has driven our assignments to collide, and I am working as best I can under the circumstances. However we are quickly approaching a time where I will be forced to assume direct control of the whole situation, and that will not look particularly agreeable to the Parliament when they assess your performance. Complete your trial quickly and efficiently, and then be on your way."

He lowered his eyes as a sign of subservience, and the female moved away from him, to observe the movements of the soldiers clearing up the mess River Tam had left behind. Anger burned in him, and he resolved that he would not let Malcolm Reynolds destroy his chances of achieving the respect of the Parliament. This was his final trial; his first assignment since gaining Operative status. He was raw and untested – if he failed in this…well, no doubt the Parliament would have no further use for him. He had been the only one of his group to survive the rigours of the moon they now orbited, nearly costing him his life. He had sacrificed his very identity, his sense of personal self; he had left everything he knew behind, even his sense of proper and decent morality, to achieve this. He would be the Instrument of the Alliance, and Malcolm Reynolds, River Tam, or any of the others were not going to stand in his way.

He swore that they would be dead before the week was out. No more games. No more attempts at capture. He would eliminate them with extreme prejudice, and he no longer cared what stood between them. He would rip that entire moon apart into rubble if need be; he would reign fire down from the sky and incinerate their very existence.

With the anger still raging inside, he turned back to oversee the operation of cleaning up River Tam's mess. He had been taught to suppress his emotion; that an emotional Operative would make mistakes, or more likely, that an emotional Operative would use excessive force to neutralise a target and risk exposing his or her assignment, but he found that he could not contain the seething rage that churned within him.

And…he found that he did not want to. Let them bear the brunt of his rage. Let the whole system shake from his very passing, and crumble as he exacted his objective…his revenge. Let the whole universe end, if it meant killing Malcolm Reynolds.

He grabbed a nearby officer by the shoulder, ignoring his startled and slightly terrified expression, and started speaking in a dreadful, quiet tone.

"I want you to have the Package ready to be delivered onto the surface of the moon within the hour."

The officer swallowed hard, detecting the anger that lay beneath the Operative's deceptively calm exterior. "But…Sir…it will take several – "

"I don't _care_ how long it'll take," whispered the Operative in that same deadly tone. "What I said was that I want it ready within an _hour_. Understood?"

The officer, fighting the strong urge to degenerate into a gibbering wreck, could only nod violently in acquiescence. The Operative released his grip on the man's shoulder and he scurried away to complete the order. The Operative smiled, some of his rage partially fading away as he vented it by planning, exactly, down to the very last gruesome detail, how he was going to walk away from this docking bay and proceed to hunt down and slaughter the entire crew of that Firefly like animals.

He was going to enjoy this.

_A/N:_

_Thanks to epm00012004_ _and Dr Gero for your reviews, and also to those who read. Dr Gero: it is a moon, but as for the rest of your speculations, I must remain silent :)_


	7. Day One: Cat and Cat and Mouse

**Day One**

**Cat and Cat and Mouse**

Groggily, Simon began to stir, smoke stinging the back of his throat. He tried to sit up, the motion feeling strange, and he hit his head on something metallic. It clanged slightly upon the impact, and Simon groaned from the small pain the action cost him.

He slowly realised why trying to sit up felt strange; he was lying down, but gravity felt as though he were standing up. He opened his eyes to reveal the interior of an Alliance escape pod. A heavily damaged Alliance escape pod.

He groaned and roused enough energy to pull back on the release lever, and the front half of the escape pod cracked open, disgorging its cargo onto the solid surface upon which it hung. Simon tumbled to the loamy floor of a forest, sucking deep lungfuls of fresh air into his body to replace the lining of smoke that seemed to have been inhabiting his chest.

Immediately he felt better. Simply the act of removing the poison from his system had restored him to some of his previous strength, and he found he could sit, and then stand up without much exertion.

He scanned his surroundings. There wasn't much past his initial impression; a forest. The escape pod had stripped the nearby trees of some of their branches as it had fallen, but there was no fire, or even that much of an impact crater. Thank God for automated safety features.

The last fiery embers of the day were illuminating the area, the sun obviously setting. Hard to imagine that just a few short hours ago that he had been on Serenity, unaware that any of this was going to happen. The forest had trees, moss, and a couple of small, furry creatures eyeing him with some minor interest. He guessed that their reaction to him must mean that this part of the forest was uninhabited, but then he remembered a trip to Ariel as a child. His father had taken the family to a designated wildlife conservation area, where, despite the masses of visitors, the squirrels would come right up to the tourists, often climbing their bodies in an attempt to reach the food being shielded in their cupped hands.

Simon shook his head. No time to be daydreaming. He looked back into the escape pod to see if there were any kind of survival pack, and he found a small rucksack stowed underneath the headrest of the capsule.

As he rummaged through the contents of the small bag, he found it mildly amusing that an organisation that had thrown him into a dingy cell to be impregnated by an alien organism that would kill him would also provide for his survival upon his escape from their custody. Not directly, of course, but that was the beauty of the faceless corporation; they provided for the masses, despite who any one person in that mass might turn out to be.

He looked up sharply, disturbed by something he thought he heard in the distance. He looked down after listening for several seconds, convinced it was his imagination, but then he heard it again, closer this time. Shuffling feet.

Instantly he was up, diving into the nearby foliage for cover, throwing the rucksack over his shoulders during his quick flight. He withdrew several metres into the dense brush of the forest, no doubt making no small amount of noise himself, but then turned back to observe the small clearing the falling escape pod had created upon impact.

After a few moments of suspenseful silence, a number of men entered the clearing. They were wearing Alliance uniforms.

A number of the troops secured a perimeter while a smaller number seemed to analyse the impact area. One of the soldiers, perhaps a technician, checked an on board display and relayed its data to the man obviously in charge of the others. He waved his hands, using some kind of coded, silent message, and the soldiers gathered around him having established that the perimeter was secure.

He began gesturing animatedly, but they were more regular motions rather than military signals. The soldiers around him were giving him their full attention, and Simon decided that this might be a good time to slip away unnoticed.

Unfortunately, he immediately stepped on a twig.

The soldier closest to him's head shot around, attracted by the noise. The commanding officer immediately shut up, and then the whole troop of men were gazing at the brush Simon crouched in intently.

The Doctor dared not even breath, but the urge to run, wildly and with complete disregard to any noise he might make on his flight, was overwhelming.

But then, somehow, against all probability, a large four-legged mammal stirred in the brush ahead of Simon and trotted calmly out of the bush, eyeing the soldiers with mild curiosity before wandering off further into the forest. The soldiers relaxed their postures and returned from their slow stalk towards the brush, starting to talk again.

Simon breathed a sigh of relief, but his blood turned to ice when the commanding officer waved one of the soldiers towards the brush. _Just to make sure,_ his posture was saying.

_Do I have to?_ Was the soldier's slumped reply. Simon could even tell what the man was thinking as he sloped dejectedly towards the brush. _I always get the crappy jobs. I hate this outfit. When am I going to get promoted already so I can buy that engagement ring for what's-her-name back home? We all _know_ that it was that stupid animal making the noise as it moved around in that brush. I'm going to look like an idiot when all there is here is grass and twigs._

But it _wasn't_ that animal, and there _was_ something in the brush, and the soldier's expectations were going to be dashed. Simon wished it were the way the soldier anticipated, but he was going to have to disappoint him.

There was no way he could remain hidden. So he took the only other option available to him.

He upped on his feet and blundered noisily from the brush hiding him, running as fast as he could in the opposite direction. The dejected soldier, after a moment of stunned silence, had started to shout towards the others in shocked amazement, but Simon had made enough noise to attract their attention already, and he could hear their cries as they started up after him.

On into the forest he plunged, disturbing animals – who ran from him this time, surrendering to their survival mechanism of flight – getting scratched from the passage of sharp twigs as he ran past them, and stumbling all the way as the unsteady ground beneath him threatened to grab one of his feet and send him tumbling to the loamy floor of the forest.

Even after several moments, it was clear that they were gaining on him. He risked a look behind him and could see the blue shapes of man made material racing after him, entirely too close for comfort. He was glad that the forest afforded him so much cover, in that had he been on an open plain they would have likely simply shot him as he ran.

But upon looking forward again, something in his balance shifted and his foot sank sideways into the ground. He stumbled and almost fell, but by balancing himself with his hands on the ground he was able to carry on running. The small stop had cost him dearly, however; several seconds after he had righted himself he felt hands grip his shoulders and heard the ragged breath of another human behind him.

He twisted wildly, trying to shake the soldier's grip on his body. He succeeded, but not quite in the way that he'd hoped; the effort again overbalanced him, but this time he fell onto his back with no hope of regaining his footing.

He slid down a small hill, dirt tumbling around him as he tried to stop his descent. Maddeningly, it wasn't even a steep incline, but as he was falling headfirst it was difficult to establish his centre of gravity and also to dig his hands and feet into the ground to slow his progress.

Finally he slid to a stop at the bottom of the hill, and he was up as soon as he could manage, expecting half a dozen hands on his body, but after a second he realised there was nothing – and there definitely should be.

He glanced back and saw a strange sight.

The soldiers were all gathered in one big group, discussing something heatedly among themselves. The leader was pointing at Simon as he spoke, spittle flecking from his lips as he spoke in quiet, outraged tones at his subordinates.

Simon frowned. The soldier wasn't pointing at him after all, but at something sticking up out of the ground halfway down the hill. A small totem, with what looked like a human skull perched on the top of it. Several bloodied animal pelts were wrapped around the pole of wood, adding their effect to the ripple working its way up Simon's spine.

The soldiers had reached some kind of consensus, and one of them raised his rifle at Simon, who immediately turned tail and ran away from the group of soldiers amid a spray of gunfire. He hid behind another patch of brush and tried to observe the soldiers at a distance, but all he could make out were vague silhouettes through the trees.

They started to fan out along the ridge Simon had fell down, forming a long line with an ever increasing gap between each man as they moved apart further from each other. But none of the men moved down the hill, past that totem.

Resigning himself to the fact that this was going to be one of those days, Simon had a choice to make between a confronting a gang of armed men and the unknown, which was signified only by a skull on a stick wrapped in rotting, fetid animal hides.

He took the only option available to him. He started to walk deeper into the forest, away from the soldiers, trying to ignore the sense of foreboding that increased with every step.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

He lost track of how long he had been walking, but the sun had set in the sky, casting the forest in darkness. His breath had started to frost as the temperature had dropped, and he walked now with his hands tucked under the opposite arm, in an attempt to keep him warm. The jacket found in the survival bag did surprisingly little to ward off the cold – at least, surprising considering it was part of a survival pack.

The soldiers had stayed behind (as far as he could tell) along the ridge, scared of whatever the totem meant to them. His brow was furrowed, trying to figure out what exactly lay in this forest, when a distant noise made him stop in his tracks.

The unmistakable sound of a human crying out in pain echoed through the trees to reach his ears, and he started to run again, towards where he thought the sound came from.

As he got closer, he started to hear other noises – grunts, dull thuds and the sound of flesh upon flesh. Just when he thought he was about to arrive at the cause of the disturbance, all of the noises ceased.

He slowed to a stop, trying to hear anything out of the ordinary. There was nothing; no sound save the rustling of the trees in the wind.

Then, in the far distance, there was a crack of gunfire. Silence again. Simon didn't know what was worse, the strange noises or the total absence of noise. He decided that the silence was probably worse, because it meant whatever was out there was probably watching him right now.

He started to move again, towards the source of the original sound, and came across a small clearing that showed signs of upheaval. Trees were splintered halfway up their trunks, the dirt was scuffed up all around him and there was an unfamiliar smell in the air. Simon didn't know what it was, but it was mixed with an aroma he was very accustomed to; the metallic stink of blood.

He moved to one of the trees, and found that if he stooped to examine it closely, he could make out the faint splatter of blood that peppered it. That wasn't really what interested him, however.

Further up the tree, in almost exactly the same configuration, was another liquid, but this one was green, and it glowed almost phosphorescently. Simon could make it out very clearly even against the dark of the night.

Splattered in almost exactly the same way as the blood below it, Simon had about five seconds to study it up close before something seized the back of his head and rammed it into the tree trunk in front of him. Before he could even cry out in surprise and pain, a hand had wrapped around his mouth and muffled the noise. He felt something sharp and metallic press against his throat, and he made himself relax, to show his aggressor that he had submitted.

"Don't make a sound," whispered a cold voice in his ear. "Or I slit your throat like a pig."

Simon nodded minutely, and the hand removed from his mouth. The blade, however, stayed where it was.

The voice continued. "Who are you?"

Simon thought this immediately odd, considering how he was a fugitive who had, some small time before, been closely pursued by Alliance troops. He decided to test his captor – whether it was a good idea to or not.

"I'm just a villager," he said, but then the blade pressed harder against his throat.

"Keep your voice down," whispered the person. "And don't lie to me. Who are you?"

Simon's lie, spoken in his Core World accent, probably didn't present much of a contest to the person's intelligence – besides, for all Simon knew this moon was uninhabited. It had been a long shot, but worth a try. "I'm a doctor," he said. "Simon Tam."

Expecting the person to wrestle him to the ground and arrest him instantly, he was mistaken when they stood there in their odd embrace for a few moments in silence.

"A doctor?" asked the person finally. Simon nodded again. Then the person released him.

He turned and expected to see…well, he didn't know what he had expected, but it wasn't what he saw. A young woman stood before him, no more than twenty-five, with her blade raised towards him cautiously. She was dressed entirely in black, and her face was flecked with blood and some mud. A black bandana covered her hair, which Simon could see, from a few small strands that had escaped from under the covering, was blonde. Simon raised his hands to show her that he meant her no harm, but the gesture did nothing to alter the woman's stance. Either she wasn't into trust that much, or…

_Or I am no threat to her whatsoever,_ thought Simon. _I'd better be careful with this one._

She waved the sword silently and gestured off to her right. Simon understood the meaning of her motion and started to walk off in that direction, and after six paces she started to follow him almost silently.

They walked like that for what felt an eternity, but as they continued to travel Simon could hear the woman's breath growing heavier in her chest as they travelled. Eventually she hissed at him to stop, and he heard her fall to one knee behind him. His instincts kicked in and he rushed to give her aid, but she raised the blade she carried at him, in a silent warning for him to stay away.

He pleaded at her with his eyes. "If you're injured," he said, careful to keep his voice down as per his instructions, "I can help you. But you have to _let_ me help you."

She stared at him for a moment, and then either because she had no strength left in her arm or because she decided to trust him, she lowered the blade and allowed him to advance.

He laid her down onto the forest floor and started to visually examine her. "Where does it hurt?" he asked, but she didn't reply. She just stared at him with those unreadable eyes.

He started to probe her body with his hands, noting when she grunted or took in a breath sharply as a result of his search. He found several lacerations all over her body, some very deep, and the rest was heavy bruising. In fact, Simon was hard pressed to find a place on her body that wasn't injured in some way.

One laceration in particular was bleeding heavily, and he identified this as the most life threatening of her injuries. He instructed the woman to apply pressure on her leg just above the wound, and then removed the survival rucksack from his back. He rummaged through it until he unearthed the first aid kit within. He opened it and snorted gently, wondering what hope anyone could draw from such a pitiful array of medical apparatus, but then reminded himself that most people were not as knowledgeable as he in the area of medicine.

He removed from the woman slightly, seeking something on the ground; he found it nestled beneath the trunk of a large tree. He stooped and gathered a handful of mud, and then proceeded to smear it across the wound, wrapping bandages around it to seal the injury.

The blade rose to Simon's throat again. "Cover the bandage with mud," she hissed, and Simon did as he was bid. Soon the white bandage was smothered by the darkness of the mud, and the woman lay back, obviously recovering from some kind of trauma.

Simon checked the contents of the medical kit and once again snorted – nothing much past a collection of antiseptic wipes and an array of bandages. He didn't know how much surviving a person could do armed only with this equipment, but it was all he had. There was a faint rustling in the foliage to their left, and the woman sat up in a flash, her eyes wide and her sword raised. After what must have been two full minutes, she relaxed and lay back down to the ground. She looked back up at him.

"Where did you get that?" she asked. Simon's eyes sought a tree several feet away from the woman, trying to find a suitable response to the question, but she must have known what the gesture signified. "Don't lie to me. Or I'll kill you, remember?"

"From an Alliance escape pod," he said, caught out. "I'm from a cruiser that's been orbiting the planet."

He didn't, however, mention that he had escaped from the vessel, and the woman didn't ask.

"How long had you been on board?"

"Not long," answered Simon truthfully. "I was in the room they assigned to me when alarms started blazing, things started exploding…" He trailed off, leaving the sentence deliberately ambiguous. Rather than filling in the blanks as he had hoped, she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Why were the alarms blazing?"

"I don't know." But something in his reply tipped her off.

"You're lying again. You're some kind of escaped prisoner, aren't you? I heard the soldiers running around earlier. They were looking for you, weren't they?"

"I don't know what…" started Simon, but the woman's mind was made up. She hauled herself to her feet and levelled the blade at him.

"Get up." He had no choice but to comply. "Start walking," she said.

And he did.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Again, he lost track of time as they walked through the forest in silence but eventually, as last time, she called for him to halt, this time as they entered a clearing with a tree that had fallen over in it.

She instructed him to sit on the exposed tree stump, and removed a pack of her own from her back. He watched in silence, his curiosity aroused, knowing that any attempt in engaging her in conversation would be met by further silence – as it had done for however long they had just been walking.

She produced a long piece of cable from the rucksack, some kind of fabricated steel twine, and walked towards him with it. Simon rose to his feet on impulse.

"What are you doing?" he asked nervously. The blade was up in an instant, threatening him.

"Sit back down," she growled, the sword never wavering. He eyed it warily.

"If you don't tell me what's going on…" He felt pathetic even before he said it. "I'll scream. That's why you're telling me to be quiet, isn't it? There's something out there, isn't there?"

She narrowed her eyes at him and said nothing, but she didn't press him into sitting back down. Nervous of her silence, Simon continued to talk in an attempt to draw some kind of response from her.

"What is it? Is the Alliance after you?"

She smiled then – the first proper expression Simon had seen her make since they had met. "No. I _am_ the Alliance."

"Well then why are you all the way out here, alone?" he asked. She pursed her lips, as if pondering whether or not to tell him. Finally she gestured at the ruined tree.

"If you sit down, I'll tell you," she said.

Not a great deal in Simon's eyes, but better than nothing. He also got the impression that, should he have tried to escape that she could have cut him down before he had taken two steps away. And more chillingly, that the only reason she hadn't killed him yet is because he might have screamed before he died.

He sank slowly to the tree stump, helpless against her choice, and she started to bind his hands together. She was likely preparing to sleep for the night and wanted to ensure he wouldn't escape. After moments of quiet, he pressed the question.

"Well?"

As if she had been waiting for him to ask, she immediately started to talk. "You know what an Operative is?" Simon nodded. "Well I'm a trainee. We get three trials, and this is number two. They set this big ass creature on me and I gotta kill it before it kills me. It's out there now."

Simon gaped at her. "That's awful," he said, and she shrugged.

"Not really. The weak perish. The strong serve. And I'm not weak."

"Do you _have_ to do this?" he asked as she completed the bindings on his hands, and she shot him an odd look.

"Of course not. But it is the highest honour to serve the Alliance as an Operative. Like I said before – I am the Alliance, and the Alliance is me."

_The weak perish. The strong serve. I am the Alliance, and the Alliance is me. _Her entire manner of speech smacked of brainwashing to Simon, but he was wise enough not to say anything. Perhaps that was her first trial; to surrender herself to the Alliance completely.

"Why are you tying me up?" he asked. She was lashing the cable around the trunk of the fallen tree now, securing it tightly with a complicated series of loops and knots. She shot him that same odd look.

"You're bait," she said, and a chill worked its way along Simon's spine. He gawked at her for a moment, her words sinking in, before he found the words.

"Wait…you can't do this," he said. "I'm a wanted fugitive of the Alliance. Do you know what Project Nightmare is?" She shook her head. "Well, uh…neither do I, really…but I know enough that another Operative – a fully fledged one this time – is looking for me. If you kill me, you'll destroy his operation," he said, quite proud of his quick thinking. She looked off into the distance, as if consulting something, and then back at him.

"If there _is_ an Operative after you, he'll probably thank me for silencing you completely," she said. _Damn,_ thought Simon, panic rising now. He went back to the only thing that had worked against her thus far.

"I'll scream," he said, and she just smiled.

"Go ahead. Now that you're tied to that stump, which one of us do you think it'll go for first?"

Then she turned and vanished.

Simon squinted at the surrounding forest, stunned by her disappearance. Something rustled to his right, but when he quickly turned to look there was nothing there.

He was alone.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

He jerked awake with a start, not even realising he had fallen asleep in the first place. He blinked rapidly, as if by being more alert now would somehow make up for the fact he had spent God knows how long unconscious.

Faint sunlight illuminated the glade he was tied to the tree in; he must have been asleep for hours. He held off berating himself for such sloppy behaviour because he heard what had woken him up – sounds of a disturbance coming from behind him.

Something crashed loudly, and then there was the sound of metal scraping across other metal. Then a cry from the woman – if it was her, who knew how many people were wandering around in this forest – and then a momentary silence.

Simon was craning his neck, pulling at his bonds as hard as he could in order to try and see through the foliage, but there was nothing.

He jumped as the loudest crash yet exploded from that direction, and something shook the entire row of trees blocking his view. _Did a tree just fall down?_ he wondered.

Something thrashed about in the forest ahead of him, and it got louder as whatever it was got closer. Simon realised that it was heading right for him, and he crouched down behind the pitiful cover of the tree trunk in an attempt to hide.

The bushes at the edge of the clearing rustled, shook violently, and then what must unmistakably be the creature hunting the Trainee emerged from the woods.

Simon gaped openly at the being in front of him. He didn't know what he had been anticipating – maybe some kind of large reptile, or possibly even one of the xenomorphs from Project Nightmare, but this creature surpassed all of his expectations.

It was a _biped_. Not in the way an ostrich was a biped, either. It had two arms and two legs, and it stood like a man. In fact, Simon was utterly convinced that it _was_ a man, but then he looked up at its face.

Almost human eyes sat within a sea of reptilian skin, and above what most definitely set it apart from being human. Bile rose in Simon's throat as he saw what functioned as the creature's mouth. Six fangs surrounded what looked like a lower jaw, and the skin that lined the peripheral mandibles reminded Simon of intestinal tissue when looked at from inside the body – pink and glistening. Small spines rose from the eyes over the forehead, and the head was framed by a row of things that looked like dreadlocks, but upon closer inspection seemed more like rubber tubing.

It was looking at him.

Simon felt terror like nothing else he had experienced seize him, and suddenly he forgot his plan to stay hidden behind the trunk and tried to crawl away from the thing instead. He travelled back about two feet before the cable snapped taught, restraining his movement.

It started to walk towards him.

Something in its eyes filled Simon with dread; some intelligence that he instinctively knew was violent, calculating and unforgiving. He worked desperately at the cable, trying to shake it loose, but of course it was made from lightweight steel – a material Simon's fingers were beyond the ability of damaging.

It stomped heavily past the tree he was leashed to, and then it was standing imperiously over Simon, who could only cower and whimper on the ground in fear. He glanced down and saw its hand gripping a fearsome blade, and he was even more afraid with the sight. An animal would simply kill him – who knew what this thing was capable of?

It raised the blade, and Simon could only roll himself into a ball, cover his head with his arms, and hope for a quick death.

But it sheared the blade through the cable that tethered Simon to the tree.

And then it collapsed.

_A/N:_

_Thanks to mbali and MAndrews for your reviews, and to those who read as well! Ten brownie points go to the first person to name what that creature is :)_

_mbali: Three stories if this one goes well and I don't screw it up somehow!_

_MAndrews: Thanks, I think I'm pushing Simon to see what he's really capable of underneath that polished, polite exterior. Not because I don't like him or anything!_


	8. Day One: Predators

**Day One**

**Predators**

With the creature that had just freed him from the prison of his tree stump lying twitching on the ground beside him, Simon was completely stunned. He had fully expected to be dead now, but instead he was free. Released by the most unlikely of saviours.

_Why did it set me free?_ he wondered, but the answer was clearer after a few moments thought.

The Trainee had been cautious of something as she had driven Simon through the forest, and perhaps she had been right – maybe this thing, whatever it was, _had_ been watching them the entire way. If so, it would have seen Simon administer medical aid to the woman, despite the fact that he was her prisoner, and it looked like medical aid was what this creature needed.

Of course, he was completely clutching at straws. He could only wildly speculate at the reason this being had freed him, but the fact remained that he now lay free, and the thing that had freed him lay bleeding to death on the ground.

He crawled slowly closer, cautious of the blade that it still gripped in its hand – by God, it even had _opposable thumbs_ – and tried to establish the source of its problems.

Several stab wounds peppered its body, and a thick green substance oozed from the injuries. Simon recalled seeing the substance sprayed on several trees just before he had been captured, and now he knew what it was. Whatever this thing was, it had green blood.

"Copper based?" mused Simon, muttering under his breath. The implications of that were enormous – but not as enormous as the task that lay ahead of him.

He laughed then, a childish sound that didn't seem right in its surroundings. This was an honest to God _alien!_ Granted, something classed as alien had crashed Serenity and landed him in this mess, but that was technically a big insect and he had been loath to label it with that term. At least, in the traditional sense of the word. This thing, however, had all of the bells and whistles he could think of.

It held a blade – it used tools. It was wearing some kind of armour – proof of learning and adapting. Its 'dreadlocks' (for want of a better term) were clasped in some kind of silver brace – ceremonial decoration; perhaps indicating religion or at least a social structure that extended to jewellery. And its eyes…this creature was intelligent. Maybe even as smart as Simon was, and he was pretty smart for a human. If he was right about the reason he had been freed, that meant it had identified Simon and the Trainee as separate entities, watched Simon's behaviour and then sought him out for help when it needed it.

Which snapped him sharply back into reality. And presented him with a difficult moral decision.

He was a doctor. But he didn't have the first clue about this creature's – person's? – physiology. He could heal it, or kill it by trying. Additionally, he wasn't even sure if he was morally obligated to administer aid; he wasn't even sure if this thing was intelligent, let alone whether he could heal it. Would he try and heal a neighbour's pet dog? No, scratch that – would he try and heal a wild animal that had happened upon him?

He pondered the question for less than thirty seconds before he edged towards the being lying on the ground. He had sworn an oath to patch things up and administer aid wherever he could, and, to his mind at least, that stretched to whatever it was that lay on the ground before him.

He inspected the wounds that the being had sustained, and was surprised that it had lasted as long as it had. Both it and the Trainee seemed to be exceptionally resilient; who knew how long they had both been out here, trying to kill each other.

"Okay," muttered Simon, preparing to get his hands dirty. "This is easy, Simon. You can do this."

Fully into the mindset of the physician, he unflinchingly pressed his fingers to its neck, searching for its pulse. Though its skin was leathery and scaly like a reptile, it was also warm like a mammal.

Not finding a pulse, Simon extended his search to the rest of its body and eventually discovered the throbbing beat of its heart(s?) at the back of its neck, near its spine. _It was a vertebrate!_

The beat of its heart felt strong to Simon, though he had no idea what was the regular resting rate of this species' pulse was.

"It has a heartbeat," said Simon. "Good…that means it has a similar enough cardiovascular system."

It was important to establish this before he started tying up its wounds, in case stifling the flow of blood would harm it in some way Simon couldn't have foreseen. But with that preliminary inspection out of the way, he produced the first aid kit from the survival rucksack and started to do his best to patch the creature – person – being – up.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

His eyes snapped open, and this time he knew exactly why he had been awakened. Cursing his fallibility, he sat up with a start and looked around the clearing. He had fallen asleep again, after healing the being as best he could. He tried to keep his eyes open as long as he could, but eventually he must have drifted off.

The rustling that had woken him up couldn't be seen, but there was no doubt in Simon's mind as to what made the sound, for the being was nowhere in sight. A slight indent into the floor of the forest and patches of luminescent green blood stained the earth to indicate where it had been resting. But nothing else.

The sun was not long up, he could see that by now. It had been dawn when the creature had stumbled into the clearing, and no more than an hour or two had passed since that time. He turned to stalk as silently as he could out of the glade, but something large and dark and alien blocked his path from behind him.

He cried out in alarm and fell backwards onto the loamy floor of the forest, suddenly re-evaluating everything. What if he had been wrong? A possibility that hadn't occurred to him earlier crossed his mind. What if he had been released by accident? What if it was once big, tragic mistake and this thing was going to slaughter him like an animal instead?

But after several moments of cowering, Simon looked up, and the creature just stood, staring down on him.

The raw horror he had experienced earlier in the morning returned, though it had been watered down by familiarity. Mixed with it was a morbid fascination, eager to learn everything he could about this being – even beyond its physiology. Did its species have music? Art? Sport?

…Did they eat humans?

The creature extended its hand suddenly, and Simon flinched visibly. But the being was pointing at him, rather than presenting a threat. It maintained the gesture for several long moments, and then it extended its hand and swept its arm back to its chest in a fist.

Simon thought he understood. "I'm…to come with you?"

The creature repeated the gesture, and Simon rose slowly to his feet. Not once had the being blinked at him, maintaining that horrible, unwavering stare. No, decided Simon. It was more of a glare.

Then it turned and stalked from the glade, checking every few paces that Simon was tagging along behind. The creature, if possible, swept even more silently along the forest floor than the Trainee had, and Simon felt as though he was blundering noisily in comparison, though in reality he only occasionally stood on a twig and rustled the undergrowth.

The creature led him from the clearing and they walked for several miles before they stopped at another. A fresh water stream ran through it, splashing noisily onto some rocks that lay at the bottom of the hill they stood before. Never did the creature speak to him, and Simon was beginning to doubt that it had a language of its own. Was it possible that a species could ascend to produce weapons and clothing without the ability of speech? And how had it healed so quickly? It must be extremely resilient to have been reduced to collapsing scant hours earlier, to walking across miles of undergrowth.

Simon was interrupted in his thoughts when the being swung around and grabbed him by the collarbone. Its fist had wrapped around his shoulder, and he felt its fingers dig into the ribs on his back. Its thumb followed the groove underneath his clavicle, while its other hand clapped over his mouth, stifling both his ability to make noise and to breath properly. He started to struggle against it, but it quickly squeezed the resistance from him. He felt shocked at the level of force being exerted onto his body by it, and even more by the strength he sensed being held back.

He allowed it to lay him on his back next to the stream without a struggle, and then it removed its hand from his shoulder. Simon almost relaxed but then it drew the blade that was sheathed at its side with a gleam of sunlight.

Simon's eyes widened and he started to flail wildly, but against it there was no defence. It tore his shirt down to his waist, still glaring at him with those relentless, remorseless eyes, and started to carve into his chest with the blade.

At first Simon thought it had plunged the dagger straight into his heart, but after the moment of panic subsided he realised that's all it was doing – carving. It hurt like hell, but it was better than outright death.

Simon's screams, muffled by the creature's hand across his mouth, started to subside. After the first minute he found that he had even almost gotten used to the rhythmic pain of the blade cutting across his chest, but then it gouged even deeper, and he could feel it wriggling in between his ribs like a hot poker. He screamed then, even louder than before, but then the pain was gone and the blade was being cast aside.

Still smothering his face, the creature – without having changed its expression once – held something up to Simon's eyes. He took a moment to focus on it, for it was very small, but then he could make it out correctly.

A tiny device was nestled between the scaly fingers. The being allowed him to regard it a few moments more, and then it flicked it contemptuously aside into the forest.

Of course! His mind recovered an almost forgotten memory, from just before he had been muscled into the escape pod by Jayne. A sharp pain had lanced into his chest, driving the sense from him. Someone must have tagged him across the docking bay, seeking to follow his progress along the surface of the moon. But how had this creature known it was there?

It withdrew its hand from his face, and without making a sound above a muted whimper, but panting heavily, he felt at the wound on his chest. After a moments assessment he established that it was no more than a surface wound, although it was bleeding not inconsiderably. He shuffled sideways along the ground to the riverbank, and splashed some water on the injury to cleanse it. After that, he smeared some mud onto it as he had with the Trainee the previous night. The creature was crouching, appearing to be sniffing at the air. Simon decided to attempt communication, the babbling of the water covering some of the noise he would make.

"Hello?" he started, and the creature – at once, without pause – turned around in a flash to look upon him, every nerve in its body taut. When it realised it was only Simon sitting there, it relaxed slightly, glaring at him still.

"Why did you save me?" he asked, but received a blank stare in reply. "Of course…you don't speak English, do you? I'm guessing not Chinese either…"

Simon pondered, and then decided upon the best way to put across his question. He extended his hands, and then mimed wrapping a cable around them. Then he pointed at the creature and then brought his hand down, severing the invisible cable. Finally he spread his hands wide, creasing his brow to indicate his puzzlement. Although, in the creature's society, such a gesture could be a deadly insult, Simon realised as he made it.

But the creature seemed to get the drift of what Simon was trying to say. It pointed at him, and then to the bandage he had placed across its leg. Simon nodded; it was as he had thought. It had been watching Simon and the Trainee as the doctor had treated her wounds.

There could be no doubt about it – this thing was intelligent, whatever it was. Simon asked another question – he pointed to the hole in his chest that had previously held the tracking device, and then repeated the expression of bewilderment. _How did you find that thing in my body?_

The creature pointed to the sky, and then to Simon's wound. It had to repeat the gesture several times until Simon realised his question had been misinterpreted. It thought that the question had been what the device was, thus the answer that something in the sky was linked to it.

Simon added a point to the creature for emphasis, and it was quickly understood. It held up a small instrument attached to its arm, and tapped a few buttons on it to indicate it was capable of scanning for such a device.

Then it gestured that Simon should come with it, towards the edge of the glade. Simon wandered carefully across the forest floor, trying to make as little noise as possible, and upon joining the creature it seized him by the shoulder again – though without as much force as before. It walked him towards a large bush, one that bore strange looking fruit, and pointed at it. The fruit glistened in the daylight, wet with dew. They were about as large as two fists clenched together, and almost seemed to glow with a soft yellow sheen. They looked like small melons, but with a softer skin; more like that of an apple. Simon didn't recognise the species of fruit – or the bush – and was loath to try and eat them.

After a few moments, Simon realised that he should start to gather the fruit. Without a basket, or other instrument to hold them, the fruit started to become unwieldy quickly. He plucked five of the items from the bush and looked towards the creature, who in turn was scanning the forest intently – presumably for the Trainee. When it became clear that Simon couldn't carry any more, it led him back to the stream, Simon carefully ensuring that he didn't drop any pieces of fruit.

It sat at the side of the stream and pointed towards a piece of tree bark that had fallen off its tree. Simon retrieved it and delivered it to the creature, and it started to peel the fruit, placing the skin onto the piece of bark.

Simon was slowly realising that whatever this creature was, to it he was obviously beneath contempt. Although he had saved its life…well, was that true? He had _tried_ to save its life, and it had recovered, although perhaps irrespective to his efforts. In any case, he felt as though the effort should be rewarded somehow for trying.

But the creature was clearly far, far stronger than he, and could easily dispatch him with close to no effort. Perhaps this was normal in its society; the strong dominating the weak. And though Simon was adept at practicing medicine, physically he was no match for it.

But despite that, it had taken him this far and appeared to be aware of his needs, so maybe this was some kind of payment for his services. In exchange for saving its life, he was being allowed to live as this thing's servant.

Or, chillingly, perhaps just being allowed to live.

It grunted softly, the first noise Simon had heard it make since encountering it, startling him out of his thoughts. It had finished skinning the fruit, and looked at him strangely, assessing him. Before he could feel nervous, it carefully placed the bark covered in fruit peelings onto a rock and stooped before the stream. It gathered a large handful of mud, and then moved towards Simon with it.

On a reflex action, Simon tried to bat the creature's hand away from him, but that was a mistake. It roughly grabbed him by the throat and forced him onto the ground, glaring that same, emotionless stare at him throughout. It squeezed with its fist around Simon's throat, the other still filled with mud, looking at him expectantly.

Simon was struck by a sudden memory. Two cats had found their way onto his parent's estate when he was much younger, before River had left for the Academy. They had fought ferociously in the garden as he had watched curiously from the window of his room. Eventually the fight was won when one of the cats reared up on both hind legs and thrown its full weight upon the other. The cat on the receiving end decided that the punishment wasn't worth it and it had rolled over, displaying its belly to the other cat. The fight had quickly dissolved after that, and the submissive cat had eventually sloped away as the victor rubbed itself against the walls of his house and the birdbath, spreading its scent onto its contested territory.

Simon instinctively imitated the behaviour of the submissive cat, trying to display that he had given in to this creature's will. He cast his eyes onto the ground, as he remembered that dogs viewed direct eye contact as a challenge, and he tried to relax his body as best he could. He spread his arms and legs, exposing his torso to the creature completely, putting himself totally at its mercy.

After a few long seconds, the creature grunted again and released Simon's throat from its vice like grip. Remembering the incident with the cats, Simon lay on the ground, unmoving from his position while the being regarded him. Eventually it gestured that he stand up and join it at the stream bank, and Simon slowly got to his feet.

It cuffed him sharply across the face, but Simon saw it for what it was – another emphasis on who was boss, for the blow was not as fierce as it could have been. Nevertheless, Simon felt blood start to gather and drip from his bottom lip. When the creature sat down, Simon did the same, and they found each other back in the same position as they had started in.

It moved forward with the mud, and Simon was careful not to show any signs of resistance. It smeared some of the wet dirt onto his face, and proceeded to systematically cover his entire body with the mire. Simon's bottom lip began to throb dully with pain, but he tried to ignore it; as he did when the creature started to smear the mud across the wound on his chest.

With the creature sat so close to him, he felt nausea uncontrollably rise in his throat upon looking at its face in great detail. He felt as though it was the ugliest thing he had ever seen, and he felt ashamed for thinking that way. To judge something solely on the merit of appearance seemed wrong to Simon, but it was an instinctive reaction to seeing something so…_alien._

It was the mandibles. Everything else he could deal with, but the sickening appendages that jutted from the creature's mouth made Simon's head swim. It reminded him of a crab, and the way they swung about and flexed served only to reinforce the impression. Perhaps they aided in communication in the creature's own habitat?

Whatever the reason, after several minutes it was finished with the mud and blissfully sat back, allowing Simon an opportunity to enjoy his own personal space again.

It was busying itself crushing the skinned fruit into a pulp, and he took the break to assess just how covered in mud he was.

A quick check revealed that the answer was almost entirely. Even his hair hadn't been spared, now containing a layer of caked dirt. It was already beginning to dry, restricting his movement. He twisted his torso and some of it cracked apart, falling to the ground. A warning glare from the creature made sure he was careful in his movements from then on.

With the pulp prepared, it repeated the process of covering Simon's body, this time with the fruit paste. A sickly aroma wafted into Simon's nostrils, sweeter even than the liquid sugar they had tasted on an extended stay somewhere on Serenity. He tried to remember the name of the planet they'd stayed on, but nothing came. Suddenly he felt pinpricks of tears sting his eyes.

It was all fading away. Like the ship itself, his memories of his time on board were sinking, but into the depths of time. Mal and Inara were somewhere on the moon, adrift in the face of the Alliance's search. River, Zoe and Jayne might not even have made it off the cruiser alive. Kaylee was… He refused to articulate the thought, in fear of completely breaking down in front of the being sitting before him. Who knows what its reaction would be to him wailing like a baby.

And he was trapped in a deadly hunt between these two beings; one alien, one human. Both sinking to a vicious, feral mode of thought. To think that the cultured and refined Simon Tam would be sitting in a forest glade being liberally smeared with dirt and fruit juice. He had once told Kaylee that he stuck so rigidly to his code of conduct because it was all that mattered out on the fringe, but maybe he had been wrong. It was all well and good to remember to say 'please' and 'thank you' in a bar full of rowdy spacers, but in a situation like he now found himself in the only thing that truly mattered was survival. He was already starting to behave like an animal to communicate himself to this strange, almost savage being – who knew what level his behaviour would stoop to?

Presently the creature was finished, and Simon felt bold enough to ask why the creature had just covered him with a layer of dirt and slime by using the already recognised gesture of spreading his hands and looking puzzled.

It waved a hand across its eyes, and then made a curious gesture. It extended its palm towards Simon's chest, and then raised it slowly, as though something was floating from him. Despite repeating the motion several times, Simon didn't understand and had to feign comprehension when he felt he was trying the creature's patience.

It stood up then, motioning him to join it. Then it started up the hill the stream babbled happily down, and Simon had no choice but to follow it.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

They walked for a short time, the sun beating down on Simon unbearably. The concoction he had been covered with stifled him utterly, trapping the heat generated by his body and containing it within that layer of muck. Sweat soon began pouring from his body in an attempt to cool himself down, but to no avail.

The route the creature was taking them along was of no help, either. The hill had soon become a sharp incline, and they were walking now along an even steeper hill, bordering on becoming vertical. The stream splashed down the face of the rock composing the hill, and Simon was very tempted to duck under the flow of the cool looking liquid in order to remove the heat from his body. He refrained, however, because doubtless the creature would not be happy with him if he were to wash off the layer of dirt it had so carefully prepared for him.

He struggled up the almost-cliff, clawing on to patches of grass that clung to rocks jutting from the geological feature and hauling himself up along them. There was no path here, so the going was doubly harder than other, similar excursions he had undertaken in the conservation areas he had visited as a child.

Finally, though, they neared the summit of the hill that had been hidden from Simon by the rows of trees he could now see stretched out below him. The creature climbed quickly up the last face of rock, disappearing from his view. Simon reached the spot it had begun its ascent, looking dubiously up.

The shortest place to climb up must have been eight feet high; a face of smooth, solid rock that the creature had somehow clambered up in one attempt. Simon looked for footholds, but there were none in evidence.

He squared his shoulders, shaking his head to loosen the cobwebs that clung to the edges of his vision. The last day had been tough for Simon, and he felt the effects of exhaustion starting to creep up on him.

Taking as much of a run up as he could take on the narrow ledge he stood on, he ran at the stone face and vaulted up, reaching as high as he could with his outstretched arms.

He succeeded in just managing to hook his elbows over the top of the face, his feet kicking impotently further down in an attempt to propel himself up and over the last hurdle.

But the strength had gone from his body, and he strained and strained against gravity, grunting in exertion to try and pull himself up and failing.

The creature appeared in his eye line, glaring at him unsympathetically. Simon tried to call out to it, but all that would come out was a pained exhalation of breath. It simply stood, unmoving, waiting for him to fail.

Simon knew that if he fell now, he would tumble down the side of the hill, breaking his body on the rugged landscape of jutting rocks and exposed tree roots below. To have reached this point and fail was a tragedy of the worst kind in Simon's eyes.

But something in the creature's expression made him re-evaluate his position. Perhaps it was not derision in its glare, but a challenge. If its culture really _was_ built on the principle of the strong dominating the weak, then he could expect no help from it. He was on his own, but because if he was not equal to the challenge in front of him then he was not worthy to survive.

Resolve burned within him suddenly, and he gathered all of his remaining strength. He kicked at the stone face, clawing his way upwards, feeling the blood vessels in his face start to swell and burn with exertion. Trembling with effort, he managed to pull his waist over the edge of the ridge and rolled onto the summit, panting heavily and knowing that had his face not been buried beneath a layer of caked dirt, anyone watching him would see it burn bright red.

He lay, basking in triumph, staring up at the sky. He barely restrained himself from crowing with victory, knowing that the creature wouldn't approve of giving away their position. Instead he grinned widely, cracking some of the mud on his face. But he didn't care – he had done it.

The creature floated into his view, and after gazing at him for several moments it extended its hand to him. Shocked momentarily, Simon accepted the grip and the creature's immense strength closed over his hand, and it lifted him to his feet without any visible effort. Something seemed to pass between them, and Simon got the distinct impression that he had won some kind of respect from it.

Then it looked sharply to the right, off into the woods. The smile vanished from Simon's face, and he scanned his new surroundings quickly, assessing where they might run to if necessary.

The ridge ran in a fairly straight line, the rocky ground giving way to the sharp drop Simon had just scaled and on the opposite side a gentler incline that led down an unknown distance that was obscured by the tree line.

A bird squawked and fluttered from a tree in the distance, and the creature sniffed sharply and looked to the left. It made a full circle, sweeping the landscape with its gaze. Its head was cocked to the side, but all Simon could hear were the chirps of the animals in the trees surrounding them, accompanied by the babbling of the stream that emerged somewhere along the ridge and tumbled down the side of the hill in a very small waterfall.

Suddenly it grabbed him by the shoulders. Too shocked to register what was happening, Simon found himself being thrown backwards, down the gentler incline on the other side of the ridge to the one he had just scaled.

Mercifully the ground was composed mostly of grass, however the occasional stone buffeted Simon's journey on his second tumble down a hill in as many days. As he twisted and tumbled down, he could see the creature looking like it was almost struggling against something, and then it too staggered backwards and fell down the hill.

Simon reached the bottom, landing heavily on his back, driving all of the air from his lungs. Lying stunned on the ground, he glanced sideways to see the creature was indeed in the throes of some kind of violent exchange, but with an invisible opponent.

Stunned as he was, Simon could see the possibility that he probably, ordinarily, would have scoffed at. But at that moment, it made as much sense as anything else that had happened over the past day, and so that was his state of mind as the creature hit the forest floor with an audible thud, kicking out as it did so.

A tree nearby shook forcibly as the invisible force impacted it, so hard that leaves further up the tree scattered down on the wind blowing gently through the forest. The ground bounced as the force landed, and then what had been invisible started to crackle and flicker back into reality.

The Trainee crouched on the loamy floor, sparking with some kind of static electricity and gripping her blade tightly in one hand. If she was experiencing any kind of shock the violent tumble down the hill had caused her, she was not displaying it; nor did she seem upset that whatever had allowed her to remain unseen to the naked eye had failed.

Instead, she was taut with contained kinetic energy, her entire attention focussed on the creature, who in turn was preparing to fly at her. Simon felt the air almost crackle and shatter into pieces around him; such was the intensity of that moment of anticipation, that brief period of time before conflict erupted, where both of them _knew_ what was going to happen, without any shadow of a doubt, and poised to embrace the moment with a violent, merciless energy.

Simon felt his stomach lurch as he too experienced that moment as an observer – one of the two was going to die, and nothing was going to stop it.

The Trainee roughly discarded something clipped to her armoured suit and ran swiftly at the creature, moving past that moment and into the conflict itself. The creature raised its fists, and Simon was too shocked to notice that it no longer held its blade; that it must have lost it on its tumble down the hill.

The Trainee stabbed out at the creature, but it evaded the strike gracefully and grabbed her by the shoulders in a move with which Simon was intimately familiar. With her, however, it reserved none of its strength and swung her like a rag doll into the nearest tree.

It released her and raised its fist, but she slipped under the blow and evaded the powerful strike. The tree, which had shaken violently upon the impact of the Trainee, was smashed apart by the creature's fist, fully half of the trunk shattering. It started to topple over, but away from the pair, who ignored the non-threat.

The Trainee had rolled behind the creature, and sliced upwards with her blade. But it anticipated the move, evading it deftly. It was not so lucky with her next strikes, however, when she swirled with the sword with all the grace of a dancer mercilessly towards it.

It was sliced three times in quick succession, each of the strikes splattering the ground with its blood, and it roared then, the first full throated sound Simon had heard it make. The entire forest seemed to shake and vibrate with the force of its rage, magnified when the felled tree crashed into the forest floor, and it hailed blows down upon the Trainee, breaking through her defence of the twirling sword with sheer, brutal aggression.

She took advantage of its anger and slipped through its exposed defences, sliding the sword neatly into its chest. If it had been human, the attack might have been enough to halt it, but it seemed only to magnify the creature's rage. As she withdrew the sword, it swiped sideways with all of its strength into her arms and the blade soared away from the pair, sinking into the bark of a tree trunk. She attempted to evade the creature's attack, but she could not avoid the fury of its offensive for very long.

She jabbed it twice in the flanks with her fists, ducked behind one swung attack from the creature as she had done before, but it was ready for her this time.

It spun around quickly, and with the full force of its power connected with the side of her face with its clenched fist. She was lifted bodily off the ground, soaring sideways over four feet before crashing and rolling across the ground of the forest, blood spraying from her jaw as she did. The creature was right behind her, but somehow, in the face of that maelstrom of force, she managed to strike back.

She hoisted a branch from the floor and swung it with all of her strength into the side of the creature's head, screaming with the effort of exerting that much force at once, and with the pain in her shattered jaw. She clubbed it solidly, and it was driven to its knees. She raised the branch to strike again, bringing it directly down onto its skull, but it pushed out at her torso, driving her away.

But she was relentless, and the sharp blow to its head had stunned it. It knelt dumbly on the floor, allowing her to ran back and deliver the attack she had just been denied, and it fell onto its side, not even trying to resist. She rained blow after blow down upon it, crying in victory as she realised she had bested this creature, blood dripping from the open wound on her face where the broken bone of her jaw jutted through the skin. She was not even mindful of that pain – only of the kill.

She turned from the creature, discarding the branch, and took two paces towards the tree her sword was embedded in before she stopped.

It was gone.

And so was the doctor.

She turned back to the creature she had been tasked to kill, and he stood there, barring her path. Before she could stop him, in less than a second, he stepped forward and plunged her own sword up into her gut.

She gasped once then, but Simon held no pity. He jabbed with the blade directly upwards, felt it slide through her digestive tract and encounter resistance when he hit her rib cage. He twisted the sword, needing to be sure, and it sliced upwards and into her heart.

Blood seeped down from the wound, coating his hands with its sticky warmth. She coughed, splattering blood that dripped from her shattered jaw and that rose from her throat as the sword demolished her internal organs.

The look in her eyes was the worst. She had tasted victory, only to be cut short at the final hurdle by something not even worth her attention. She fell slowly backwards, her last breath aching from her body, and the sword was brought with her.

It slid out of her then, and Simon was left clutching the cold, hard steel that was drowned in her blood. Numbly, he let go of it and it sank into the ground, biting into the soil as it had done with the woman's flesh.

He turned and almost staggered towards the prone form of the creature, who was only in slightly better shape than the Trainee. He sank to his knees by its side, and it regarded him with those same, expressionless eyes. Its chest was panting lightly, as if it couldn't draw enough breath, and Simon saw way quickly. The wound in its chest bubbled with escaping air, and Simon surmised that whatever served as its lungs had been punctured by the weapon.

Unshed tears shone in his eyes. What he had just done was slowly sinking in. He had acted entirely on instinct, defending the creature over the Trainee because it had shown him the most kindness. He had just killed someone. Had he been defending the creature? Or had he done it out of self-interest? Had he killed the woman because he felt that she would kill him once she had dealt with the creature? A confusing array of emotions swelled through Simon, contradicting each other and telling him different things until his head swam.

The creature raised its hand, trying to grasp his shoulder, but its motor functions had clearly been damaged and it waved its hand around, trying to reach the elusive limb. Simon clutched its wrist and placed its hand on his shoulder. Perhaps it was how his sight was distorted by tears, but he thought he saw its brow crease, offering him some kind of thanks or consolation. Maybe it knew how he was feeling, offering him comfort in his distress. Or maybe he was just seeking comfort from something, anything, and the only thing nearby was this completely alien creature.

Then he realised that it hadn't been trying to hold his shoulder. It was trying to offer him something. Simon blinked and sniffed the tears away and focussed more clearly on it.

The device on its arm; the one it had detected the tracker in his chest with. It was trying to give it to him.

He grasped the device in his hands, pulling roughly against its grip, and it slid off its arm. To what it did Simon had no clue, but it was his now; a trophy of the grisly contest with the Trainee.

The creature raised its hand, pointing off into the forest. Simon followed the gesture with his eyes, but saw nothing. On instinct, he pointed the device in the same direction and was rewarded when it vibrated gently in his hands. The creature looked back at him, seemingly with approval, and then with a last, gurgled breath, it died.

Simon sat by its body for quite some time, trembling with exhaustion and spent emotion, not realising exactly what had happened, or even why, but knowing that it was somehow profound. Suddenly he retched and disgorged the contents of his stomach onto the forest floor. Neither of the combatants seemed to care.

Then he felt as though he should deliver some mark of respect onto the dead, but he had no shovel to dig a grave, nor any materials to construct a fire. He moved to close the creature's eyes, as he would have done a human, and he finally realised why it had always fixed him with that glare. It had no eyelids.

A few hours ago this might have disgusted him, but now he simply accepted the knowledge, numb to the world.

He clambered to his feet and saw that his grief had not gone unnoticed.

Two more creatures, of the same species to the one Simon had just killed for, stood a fair distance away, watching him. Their faces were covered in some kind of helmet, and in the dim recesses of his conscious mind Simon recognised it as the device the Trainee had discarded just before entering combat. She must have been utilising the alien device to further her own agenda.

They made no move towards him, and after several moments something snapped inside Simon. He moved towards them, confusion and sorrow and rage all boiling up inside of him as he went. The emotion finally culminated in an almost unrecognisable call.

"What do you want from me?" cried Simon, but the creatures didn't respond. His anger surpassed anything he had felt before, and he roared louder than he ever had, _"What do you want from me?"_

But the creatures didn't understand him. They only saw this strange being, standing over the dead bodies of one of their kin and one of those who hunted them, soaked with their blood, thunderously howling loudly towards them. They bowed then, submissive, took several steps backward, and melted into the forest.

Beyond thought, Simon stumbled away into the forest, and several hours later he arrived at the small village Mal and Inara had discovered. But the worst wasn't over for Simon.

Not for any of them.

_A/N:_

_Mariedulongcre: That _was_ a Predator and you get the brownie points! Thanks for the review; I read back the dialogue and I see what you mean – assuming you just meant for that last chapter, otherwise it's a little more deep seated into my writing style._

_MAndrews: As always, thanks for the review._

_Blues Scale: Thank you very much for the compliment!_


	9. Day Two: The Calm

**Day Two**

**The Calm**

His eyes slowly opened, cracking audibly as they parted the mud smeared onto his eyelids. He was in a room. A dark room. Either that, or he was blind. He found that he didn't care.

"You're awake," said a voice beside him. It took a few moments to realise who it belonged to, but the sound filtered through layers of apathy to identify it as Inara. He didn't move.

Parting his lips didn't create the same sound, but he found that trying to speak only made an unattractive, croaking noise emerge. There was a rustling.

"Here, drink this," she offered, and Simon parted his lips because it would have been inconvenient to dissuade her. He drank some of the liquid, his body feeling better for it but his mind uncaring. "Try again," she suggested.

"Where am I?" he asked, but his voice was flat.

"A small village on the moon we crashed on. Mal and I came across it, and it looks like you found your way here, too."

Silence then, for Simon didn't feel like replying to her statement. Eventually she broke it, her curiosity burning.

"What…what happened to you?" she asked falteringly.

Gazing up at the ceiling, Simon thought of the best way to encapsulate the events he had lived through in the forest. Eventually he decided.

"I killed someone," he said, and found the energy to roll into the foetal position. "I'm a murderer."

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

It was past midnight. Mal, moving as fast as he could on his bad leg, raced through the forest, his ears keenly listening for any sound that didn't belong to the native wildlife. He probably stuck out like a sore thumb against the darkness of the night, but he didn't care about that anymore. He was back in his element, _doing_ something.

He pressed himself against the trunk of a tree, his hand clutching at the butt of his pistol Aaron had kindly returned to him before he left.

Nothing. No sounds except those created by the insects buzzing about the trees. The birds were all in their nests, and the animals had all gone to sleep.

Then, in the far distance, the crack of a gunshot, followed by a spattering of automatic weapons fire that sounded almost delicate at this range.

Mal was away instantly, bounding towards the sound of the disturbance as fast as his injured leg would carry him.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"_Hey,_" whispered Jayne frantically. There was no response. "_Hey!" _he tried again, his hushed tone sounding like a thunderclap against the still of the night.

The escape pod didn't stir, nor did anything inside of it. Its hulk gleamed white against the moonlight shining down on it, magnifying the glow because of the material it was constructed from.

Jayne had been on the run for nearly a day now, having sought shelter in a cave near to where he had crashed. He'd snatched a few hours of fitful sleep before the Alliance found him, driving him from his temporary sanctuary and back into the wilderness. The ammo from their escape had long since run out, and now he relied entirely upon the hunting knife he had sequestered on board the Alliance cruiser, held now low before his body in a ready position.

It had recently tasted blood.

He was risking much by investigating the crashed pod, because now doubt the Alliance had found it long before he had. But he had taken care of the lone sentry, creeping up behind him and making several quick jabs with the knife, and so now, on the surface of things, the way was clear.

But Jayne, perhaps lacking in the thinking department, was very good at what he did. And what he did was exactly this; survive.

He crept forward, slinking low across the loamy floor, scanning intently for any tripwires or nooses that the troopers might have left behind for uninvited guests. But he didn't find anything. In fact, he got all the way to the escape pod before anything interrupted him.

The barrel of a pistol jutted into the small of his back.

"Hey," whispered Zoe behind him. Jayne relaxed, experiencing a taut anxiety in the second between being caught and her speaking. "Are you stupid?" she asked.

"Well…yeah. I thought you knew that already."

She removed the pistol from his back, and allowed him to turn around and look at her. She didn't look happy, but then, when did she these days?

"You of all people, Jayne," she said disapprovingly. "What were you thinking coming back here?"

Jayne looked sheepish. "I thought that…maybe…y'know…Kaylee might be inside." Zoe looked at him sceptically, but Jayne was telling the truth. Not even knowing why, he felt as though he owed the engineer something, for letting her down back on Serenity.

Another person could recognise the feeling that burned inside Jayne now – guilt – but the man himself couldn't quite put his finger on it. Thus, he was being driven by the emotion without knowing what it was, nor why he was doing it. What he did know was that they had all pledged to take care of each other – those last four, nervously waiting for the Alliance to cut through the hatch of the shuttle subsequent to their escape from Serenity – and right now, though he was a selfish creature, Jayne wanted someone watching his back. Even if that someone was a giddy engineer or a geeky doctor.

"Well, you're outta luck," said Zoe, holstering her weapon. "I've got Kaylee in a safe place. I already found her."

Jayne relaxed visibly from tension he wasn't even aware he was carrying. Zoe once again fixed him with a sceptical raise of her eyebrows, but waved him on.

"C'mon. Let's get going."

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"You're not much of a talker, are you?" asked Andrews weakly from where he sat slumped against a tree trunk. From her guarding point on the ridge, River ignored him and continued to scan the surrounding area for approaching Alliance troops. The man sighed, squirming as he sat, trying to get more comfortable. He failed.

"Do you have any idea where we're going?" he said, and again River ignored him. She was frowning, looking for something other than soldiers.

"Too many paths…" she whispered, and in the silence of the night her words travelled to reach Andrews' ears.

He snorted with derision. "Too many? I think we have the opposite problem out here…"

She turned to fix him with a stern gaze, silencing his incredulity. "Wrong kind of path."

He saw the intent look in her eyes, and the way she looked out onto the moon. The view from their safe haven allowed a good look down onto the rest of the forest, but she didn't seem to be paying it any heed. He was serious all of a sudden, trying to figure her out.

"You're not like all of the other girls, are you?" he asked, but the girl seemed to know that he didn't expect an answer. "You're a Reader, aren't you?"

He had heard about people like her during his time on the hunting lodge he had established with his friend. Rich people were the main source of their income, those who travelled out as far as you could go without truly leaving the Core, and occasionally those people included important persons. Or they liked to think so, at least.

Andrews could stay quiet when he needed to, and was a fairly decent hunter, and part of the deal the rich tourists were getting was being able to wander off into the wilderness, having the illusion of being brave and alone, but knowing that the reality was one of the hunters they were paying so handsomely was never far away. Sometimes they forgot that they were alone, and sometimes Andrews forgot that he shouldn't be listening in to other people's conversations.

He heard many interesting things, but one in particular seemed relevant now. A big shot from a huge corporation was out hunting with his friend, and they were discussing, in loud voices, the implications Readers would have on the system. At the time, Andrews thought no more of it than to wonder how they thought they were going to catch anything talking so loud, but now he could take the knowledge they had unknowingly given him and apply it to this situation.

"The paths that you see," he said. "Why can't you make them out now?"

The girl looked troubled. "I…I don't know. Something is there, but the light's too dim. Just out of reach."

"Where does my path lead?" he asked, not really expecting a reply, but River surprised him.

"You're going to save our lives," she said, but it was though she was reading it from memory than looking into it now.

"…How much trouble are we in?"

River paused.

"I don't know…"

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Zoe and Jayne, the latter carrying Kaylee slung across his shoulders as he had done on board the Alliance cruiser, were walking stealthily across the forest when they were set upon.

It was an ugly little skirmish, the Alliance troops catching them completely by surprise, but the fugitives' reflexes were good and they evaded the initial burst of gunfire that swept the ground in front of them.

With Zoe hunched behind a rock and Jayne behind a tree, the woman returned fire on the approaching soldiers while Jayne could simply watch helplessly, the only weapon he possessed being the hunting knife clutched in his palm.

Fortunately it was only a small patrol, though the Alliance outnumbered them two to one – including Kaylee. One trooper fell to a well-placed shot from Zoe, but the rest managed to evade her attack.

The rock splintered with weapons fire, and Zoe had to duck back behind it to avoid being riddled with holes. After several moments of crouching desperately behind her sparse cover, she cried out to Jayne and threw the weapon across the gap between the rock and the tree to him, and he leaned around instantly, squeezing off a few rounds. He managed to fell another trooper, but the soldiers had been trained well and almost melted into the forest, disappearing behind cover of their own.

Attempting to throw them off guard, he passed the weapon back to Zoe, knowing that they would expect any weapons fire to come from his direction, but even in the darkness of the night the motion attracted the attention of the soldiers. Both the tree and the rock were now peppered with impacts from the soldier's weapons, and Zoe risked exposing herself to that assault in order to get a better chance of taking out another soldier.

She settled the sights onto one of their assailants and squeezed the trigger. It clicked empty.

With a cry of dismay she abandoned the rifle and crouched back down behind the rock, and the Alliance men sensed their weakness. They started to creep forward, the remaining four, and quickly closed the gap between their cover and that of their prey.

Zoe's hands picked up the rifle again, wielding it like a club, and Jayne's hand tensed around the hilt of the knife he carried. The pair readied themselves to erupt from their cover, taking out as many of the troopers as they could before they were shot.

Just as the soldiers entered striking distance, several gunshots fired off in quick succession from the hill they had hidden on. Two of the men were down before they knew what was happening, and the last two swept their weapons around, seeking the newcomer.

One of the two was shot through the neck, collapsing to the ground in a spray of blood, but the second survived unscathed as two rounds exploded into his body armour, driving him a step backwards but otherwise not harming him.

He raised his rifle to fire at the newcomer, but then Jayne was behind him, his arm snaking around his throat, holding the knife taut, and after several brutal jabs the soldier was still in his arms.

Mal waved at them from the hill, holstering his pistol by his side. Zoe was standing next to Jayne then, greeting their Captain.

"We thought you were dead," she said, and for a second Jayne thought she was going to run and hug him. But she restrained herself. Mal limped down the hill to meet them.

"Yeah. Well. Not yet," he said to her, squeezing her shoulder warmly.

"Inara?"

"She's fine. Which I'm glad to see you are too, by the way," he said, stealing a look at Jayne, as though he didn't want to admit he was glad to see the man. Considering how Jayne had let them all down on the ship, that wasn't much of a surprise. "The others?"

"River and Andrews we don't know…"

"Andrews?"

"Yeah. He was bein' held on the cruiser we were. River brought him along. We haven't seen or heard from Simon either."

"Simon's safe. Well, relatively. He's with Inara at the village we're dug out in."

"Good. We think he was shot while we were escaping from the Alliance cruiser. We were brought on board, and…"

Mal stole a glance around him and interrupted Zoe. "I wanna hear all about it – really, I do – but I don't think this is the best time or place, right? What about Kaylee?"

Jayne and Zoe exchanged a glance, and that was when Mal knew something was wrong. He gave a frantic look to each of them.

"What?"

"Sir…" said Zoe. "It's not good news."

She stepped aside and led Mal behind the tree where Jayne had been seeking cover, and it was there that Mal saw the huddled form of his engineer, with that obscenity clutched to her face.

His face twisted with emotion, and he had to look away immediately in fear that the sight completely overwhelm him. He grabbed at the tree to steady himself, and drew in several shaky breaths to keep his emotion level. He looked back at Kaylee, and he punched the bark softly.

"Not her…" he whispered. "Anyone else…"

Rather than feel betrayed by his words, Zoe and – surprisingly – Jayne both nodded a quiet agreement to Mal's words.

It had happened to the best of them. Kaylee, full of innocent love of life, had been cut short by this thing, this monster, leaving them all with a void of joy in their hearts. The one who could have made the best of this most dire of situations was the victim of it, leaving the rest of them with no direction home.

Finally, despite the emotion they were all feeling, the necessity of the present forced its way back onto their minds, and soon Jayne was picking up Kaylee, and Mal was leading them back towards the village they were currently seeking refuge in – the only safe place they had left.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Some time later, Mal led the part of his crew he could salvage back to the village, and they crept stealthily along the boundary, not wanting to alert the villagers to the fact they were bringing a strange organism with them into their home. Aaron had allotted them the row of cabins they had constructed to hold the Operative Trainees, and quietly they walked along the path to the rooms.

Inara, having heard the scuffle of feet from inside the cabin she was keeping an eye on Simon in, rushed out to see what was going on.

"Mal?" she whispered in a hushed tone, and he waved to her to allay her concerns. Although she couldn't make out his face, she saw his silhouette signal, and then the way he limped back towards the other darkened shapes he stood with allowed her to identify him. She hurried to join them.

"Get the door," grunted Jayne under his breath, and Zoe moved ahead to open it. A greeting caught in Inara's throat as she realised that Jayne was labouring under the weight of a body slung across his shoulders.

"What's going on?" she asked, but the others ignored her.

Jayne moved into the room and deposited his charge onto the lower bed, and as Inara tried to follow him Mal barred her way.

"Get out of my way," she muttered indignantly, not realising anything was the matter. She hit his arm, and sensing that she would not back down, Mal allowed her to pass and she hurried into the room.

Zoe lit one of the candles, and Inara was hit by the sight of Kaylee. She almost stumbled, taking in the horror of the sight of the monster gripping her face. Mal was there then, placing a hand comfortingly on her shoulder. A small cry escaped Inara's lips.

Zoe was looking at her intensely. "The Alliance did it. That son of a bitch Operative threw us all in cages and set those things loose in there with us. I managed to kill mine, but…"

But her words were less than reassuring to the Companion. Inara started to cry, and Mal had to lead her from the room.

He stayed with her in her cabin until she fell asleep, and then returned to the room Kaylee was lying in. Zoe and Jayne glanced at him wearily as he entered.

"You both okay?" he asked, and received two shrugs in reply. He shook his head, silently berating himself. Of course they weren't okay – none of them were. He tried to bring the focus of his mind to bear, but fatigue and shock were clouding his thoughts, leaving him reeling about, trying to find some sense in a situation where none seemed to exist. Maybe Inara had the best idea – try and sleep it off. But he knew that trying to rest while his mind had such dilemmas to resolve would be a futile endeavour. Instead, he sat on the chair nearest to the door, rested one of his arms on the small table, and addressed the two other conscious people in the room.

"Tell me what happened."

Zoe started to speak. Jayne, sitting on the upper bunk with his legs dangling down into the air, just looked at Mal, as if daring him to raise an objection to any of the facts to their story, but Mal accepted it all.

Zoe began with their frantic flight from the Serenity, and their subsequent capture by the cruiser in orbit. As she spoke, Mal discovered that this was exactly what he needed – to lay out all of the facts in front of him, leaving no stone unturned, in order to determine their next move. She moved on to tell of the surprise appearance by the Operative they had found in the Blue Sun files, and this was when Mal started to get particularly interested.

"It was the same guy?"

"If I'm wrong, you can rip out the heart out from my chest."

"'Yes' would have been enough, Zoe."

"It was the same guy," repeated Jayne. Mal pursed his lips and thought hard.

He looked up after a minute or so of silent speculation. "And he was in charge?"

"Looked that way. No, wait…" said Zoe, obviously trying to remember some small detail of the Operative's smug speech in the white room with the invisible barrier. "He said…he said his task was to find the crate we chanced across, and who put it there in the first place. Said it was a misplaced shipment from Project Nightmare; the name the Alliance put on producin' these things."

"So he might not be runnin' things? He never explicitly said, 'this here's my ship'?"

"No. Why?"

Mal's brow creased with the weight of the thoughts running through his mind. "Somethin's not been quite sittin' right since we found out an Operative's involved in a Blue Sun project. I mean, sure, it might be that Blue Sun put up the cash for an Alliance gig, or the Alliance has a vested interest and wants to keep an eye on things in the Blue Sun op. But why all the secrecy? If Blue Sun wanted to keep an eye on the Alliance's man, they'd have to go no further than their own labs, if he was assigned to that operation. And vice versa – the Alliance would know where to send their guy if they knew all about the project from the get go."

"So?" asked Jayne, typically bluntly. Mal shot an exasperated glance at him.

"I don't know. That's what I'm tryin' to figure out."

Zoe was more helpful. "Maybe they haven't given each other full disclosure?"

"But why? It's counter-productive, and we all know how the Alliance likes to favour efficiency – and I'll bet Blue Sun is even more anal about it, seein' as how they're on top of the market and all. One slip and they start to fall."

"Well then, one side or the other has more to lose and doesn't want to show all of its cards at the table."

"Where'd we get these files?" asked Jayne, displaying once again he had the memory capacity slightly larger than a goldfish.

"On Beaumonde. We jacked into the computer that was in the office of the guy we were supposed to report to. 'Cept we were meant to die on the job."

"So…they aren't from Blue Sun."

"Well…" said Mal, who looked to Zoe for support. She couldn't help him. "It's complicated. The job we did got put out by Weyland-Yutani, which is owned by Blue Sun."

"But the offices we went to weren't owned by either of those two companies…right?" asked Jayne, seeking confirmation from Zoe or Mal, both of whom were staring intently at the floor, scanning their memories. "Cause I don't remember seein' no big 'W's or 'Y's as we went in."

"Neither do I," said Zoe. Mal shook his head to agree with her statement.

"Me neither."

"So?" asked Jayne again. Mal assessed the question with proper weight this time, instead of dismissing it out of hand. Then, it was as though the cobwebs of exhaustion had suddenly cleared and the ray of sunlight that was comprehension dawned on him.

"So…it means that maybe the job we did wasn't by Blue Sun. Maybe that's what's been botherin' me about the Blue Sun, Alliance thing. Why would that Operative spend so much time and energy looking for our crate, like you said that he told you, if the company he's workin' with put out the job to ship it?"

"He could've just checked their logs, found out where we were supposed to turn up," said Zoe. "He'd have been waitin' for us on Beaumonde, lookin' to see if we turned up with the crate."

"But he wasn't."

"No."

"Someone wanna spell this out for me?" asked Jayne laconically.

Mal glanced at him neutrally. "Either Blue Sun and the Alliance aren't too good at talkin' amongst each other, or we've been duped."

"How've we been duped?"

"Think about it, Jayne. Why else would there be detailed reports on the Operative lookin' for the crate we were haulin'? Zoe, you said that this guy said his job was to find out who shipped this crate in the first place, right? Well maybe that's who we were haulin' the crate for. I'd say they'd have a pretty good reason to keep tabs on this Operative, if he's the one lookin' for them."

"What about the files?" asked Zoe, refusing to be drawn in by the growing excitement in Mal's voice. "They said the job we did was issued by Blue Sun, or Weyland-Yutani, or whoever."

"It's easy enough to fake that kinda signature. It's common practice for smugglers; they haul a small amount of one cargo, hide a larger amount of another, and if they get stopped by a patrol they can show all the right documents for the smaller amount. Hell, I met one guy who'd been haulin' the same six crates of beans for over two years; he just kept updatin' the date the job was issued on and the destination inside the ship's database."

"So we didn't do a job for Blue Sun," said Jayne. "Where does that leave us?"

Mal opened his mouth as if he was about to speak, but no words came out. He sat there for several seconds, more and more obviously thinking of what he should say, but he was saved when the door swung open slowly from outside, providing a distraction.

River stood in the doorway, and behind her Andrews was leaning on the rail allowing the view to the rest of the village.

"Pleased to meet y'all in person," drawled Andrews, looking as though he was barely alive. "If it ain't too much trouble, d'you think I might have a bed to pass out on?"

After that, nobody talked about anything for a while. Once Andrews had been given a bunk, Mal decided that it would be best if they called it a night. Each person, alone with their thoughts, found sleep an elusive state – each concerned with their own place in the events unfolding around them.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

He didn't know what time it was, but the sun was up. After a night of restless dozing, Mal finally made the decision to roll from his bunk. Whatever number of hours had passed since they had all retired he didn't know, but his mind had been swimming with possibilities after Jayne had asked him the fateful question: _'Where does that leave us?'_

The question had made him lose sleep. He had existed in that state somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, preoccupied with the direction he should take those who depended on him in. What seemed like thousands of possibilities all stretched out from this place, but, ultimately, all of them began with escaping the moon unharmed; an impossibility, when all things were considered.

Eventually, in a contradiction that was not lost on him, he grew tired of trying to fall fully asleep. He swung down from his bunk and dropped onto the wooden floor.

Andrews was fast asleep on the bottom bunk, but Mal suspected that his restful state was indicative more of whatever injuries he had sustained on the cruiser than his peace of mind. It wasn't that he was keeping an eye on the younger man…he just didn't trust him, is all. But he obviously wasn't going anywhere for a while, so Mal pulled on his shirt and padded out into the dewy morning.

He discovered that he wasn't the first one up. Still coated in mud and that yellow ooze, Simon sat on a chair he had moved from inside his room, staring out at the calm village with hollow eyes. Mal stood at the rail, looking out, and the doctor didn't acknowledge him.

In time, Mal grew weary of standing in silence, and tried to initiate a conversation.

"Good mornin'," he said.

After a long pause, Simon roused the energy to reply to him. "Is it?" he said, barely audible. Mal leaned down to hear him better.

"'Scuse me?" he asked.

"Is it?" repeated Simon, louder this time. "A good morning."

Mal shrugged. "As good as any other, I suppose. If you ignore all of the unpleasant business goin' on around us, that is. We all found each other again. That's gotta count for somethin'."

"Not for much," said Simon with the barest trace of scorn present in his voice. "Kaylee's…well, you saw her. The new man Andrews looks as though he's about to collapse dead at any moment. And the rest of us have…been better."

Mal levelled his steady gaze out onto the village, not rising to the bait. "I know. Things have been better, like you say. In fact, I can't think of a time when things have been worse – and I include my time on the good fertile soil of Serenity Valley in that statement. But maybe if you stopped feelin' sorry for yourself for two seconds, you'd realise that there's a way we can play this."

It took a moment for Simon to realise what exactly Mal had just said. Then he looked up, his lips parting to deliver an outraged objection to Mal's admonishment. But Mal held up his forefinger.

"Not a word of offended indignation, doctor," he said harshly, but with his voice down as to not disturb the others. "I don't give a fay-fay duh pee-yen _what_ happened to you out in that forest. You get over it, and you do it fast because I've got no time for your spoiled-child routine. Y'understand?"

Simon trembled with barely contained anger, his fists clenching and unclenching rhythmically as he sized up Mal. The Captain saw this and nodded.

"Good. I'm glad to see that layer of apathy you were buildin' up there is gone. Saves a whole bunch of time if the person you're speakin' to can actually reply to what you say."

"I ought to…" muttered Simon, speaking for the first time. The tendons on his neck were raised, indicating the level of tension building in his jaw. He had flushed a dark red.

"What? You'll do what? Now I take it you ran into some kind of fearsome beasty out in yonder woods, which'd explain you being all coated in icky badness. But what I don't know is if you met one of Them."

Distracted momentarily by Mal's insight into what had transpired in the forest, Simon blinked. "Them?" he asked, thrown off guard.

Mal nodded. "Yep. Those who have no name. Me n' Inara were guessin' they were Operative Trainees, but we got no way to back that up. So? Did you meet one?"

Simon nodded numbly, remembering the young, blonde female who he had encountered and subsequently killed deep in the forest. He paled, and the aggression leaked from him like a dam had burst. He slumped in his chair, and Mal noticed the change in him.

He frowned at the doctor. "What happened?"

"I…uh…" said Simon, but the words wouldn't come. He was still too torn up about his decision to speak it aloud, and Mal seemed to understand.

"Well, okay. We can talk about that when you're ready. But I'm guessin' you ran into one. What you don't know is that we got one sittin' in the end cabin on this row."

Simon's eyes slowly met Mal's, and something sparked within them. A frown slowly creased on his forehead, and his eyebrow arched. Mal nodded.

"That's right. We might have some leverage after all. Now, I've been lyin' awake this whole night ponderin' what our next move is, and I can think of what we might be able to do to get out of this. But the plan I've come up with needs a little…discretion. Even from the others."

"Why…?"

"Because they might not like some of the things we need to do. I'd have included you in that category 'til today but lookin' at you now…I think you're willin' to expand your moral boundaries somewhat at the moment."

Simon didn't agree with Mal, but nor did he discount his statement. Instead, he returned to looking pensively out at the village. He sat, deep in thought and self-analysis for a long few moments, and then returned his gaze to the Captain.

"What do you have in mind?" he asked.

While they conversed, neither man, nor any other member of the ragged band of fugitives sleeping in that village, yet suspected that anything was wrong with Simon – past his fractured mental state, that is. But the fact remained that the creature in the forest hadn't done as good a job as Simon had first supposed at removing the tracking device shot into his chest.

The tiny chip was not a transmitter – it was a small pellet of radioactive material that emitted an isotope created specifically by the Alliance military. Merely being tagged with the chip was enough for some of the isotope to leak into the target's bloodstream. Unfortunately for Simon, this effectively made him a walking beacon for the cruiser lying in orbit, which was capable of detecting the isotope from such a distance.

The Operatives knew where they were.

And they were coming.

_A/N:_

_Quick note on original characters:_

_I'm using a few of them now, and I wanted to make sure they are meshing well with the rest of the story. If anyone is having trouble visualising the new characters here's what I have (it helps me to 'see' the characters as I'm writing): _

_Andrews as a Paul Rudd or James McAvoy type (skinny, physically unassuming)  
The Male Operative as a Daniel Craig type (the opposite – big and physically brooding)  
The Female Operative as an Angelina Jolie type (sensual and mysterious)_

_Sad, yes, but like I said, otherwise they're just a blur in my mind's eye. Thanks to those who reviewed and read - a record 5 reviews for last chapter! MAndrews, ccb, mariedulongcre, Blues Scale and Cosmic Castaway all took part in this historic event - feel proud, guys :P  
_


	10. Day Two: The Storm

**Day Two**

**The Storm**

Inara's eyes stirred before she awoke, rolling in their sockets as she tried to force herself awake. The door to her cabin was being swung open, and though she was exhausted, her fractured nerves forced her on edge and ready to fight any potential incursion.

But it was only Aaron. He rapped lightly on the door before he entered, and then poked his old face around the heavy door.

"If you or your friends would like any food, you're free to use my house as a dining area."

Inara nodded as graciously as she could, having just woken up. "Thank you very much," she said.

He turned to leave, but thought of something more he had to say to her. "Ah, and please let the others know that it looks like there's a storm coming. I imagine it will be raining soon."

She nodded, and Aaron withdrew from the room.

Then she exhaled in relief. She was glad the old man hadn't entered the room to her right. He would have received a nasty surprise if he'd looked at the bottom bunk.

She rose from bed, still feeling exhausted but at least better rested than earlier that morning, to become aware that the wounds on her face were starting to hurt.

She tentatively raised her fingers to probe the injuries, and winced as one of her fingertips accidentally poked one of them. Had she a mirror, she would no doubt see ugly looking blisters forming over the tender skin – though no doubt her imagination doubled the impact of seeing the welts.

She sighed again, got dressed and then awoke the others. It was time to eat.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"Hopefully nothin' bad'll happen this time," said Jayne as he began to tuck in to the bowl of gruel before him. The comment was met with a collective silence, shocked at Jayne's casual mention of the events that had ruined their lives.

"Beg pardon?" asked Zoe frostily, but Jayne either didn't see the warning signs or didn't care.

"Y'know, 'cause last time we all sat down at a table together…" he trailed off, perhaps sensing that the explanation wasn't necessary. Zoe simply glared at him in silence, until the man cast his eyes down at the table and said no more.

After an awkward pause, Inara tried to start up a conversation with a lighter tone. "Did anyone see Mal or Simon this morning?"

Zoe shook her head. "They were gone 'fore you came and woke me up. Don't know where they went."

"River?"

"I…uh…" said Andrews, almost faltering. "I think she's still asleep."

"How is Kaylee?"

Zoe gave her a steady look. "Best as she can be, under the circumstances."

Inara nodded, taking the hint, and returned to eating in silence.

She scanned her intuition for something to say; anything that would be appropriate in the current situation, but nothing came to her. There just wasn't a class she had taken during her training that covered idle conversation after a life-destroying event.

And so they all ate in a silence that was occasionally marked by a rumble of thunder on the horizon. Andrews was looking nervously about him, as if he was waiting for one of the strangers he was sat with to suddenly lash out and attack him. Zoe and Jayne both looked as though they needed to hit something, and Kaylee was back in her – locked – cabin room.

Eventually, though, Jayne finished his gruel. He threw down his wooden spoon, sending it clattering across the table and falling just short of Inara's bowl. He slouched back in his chair, and gave each of the people sitting about him an angry, challenging look. Only Zoe carrying on eating, not meeting his eyes.

After what must have seemed like a suitable dramatic pause to him, Jayne started talking, and Inara wished for the silence again.

"Well ain't this nice?"

The statement, so full of dripping sarcasm, had the opposite effect than its words dictated. He glared at each of them again, perhaps anticipating a reply, but no one forwarded a response. So, to Jayne, that meant to carry on talking.

"I've never felt so pathetic in all my gorram life. Hidin' in a shack in the middle of nowhere? Eatin' some piss poor sludge for breakfast? Stuck in this village for Lord knows how long?" He made a disgusted snort. "What then? We just gonna sit here and wait for the Alliance to come find us? D'you think they're gonna sit on their behinds and let us get back on our feet 'fore they come cut us down? Huh? Anyone?"

"No," said a voice from the door. "I doubt that very much."

Jayne whirled, almost falling off his chair in his surprise. The Operative stood in the doorway, smiling gently to himself, as if this were all some grand joke he was playing on them.

Jayne was up in a heartbeat, flying for the man who had thrown them into grimy cages and unleashed alien organisms onto two of them. The Operative neatly blocked Jayne's clumsy attacks, and then jabbed him in the throat. The mercenary gagged and fell back, choking for breath. But by that time the rest of them were up.

Zoe swung sharply with her fist, clipping the Operative's cheek as he stepped backwards to evade the attack. Andrews, still in a bad physical condition, grappled their aggressor, trying to trap his arms to his sides, but failed. He succeeded in wrapping his arms around the man's chest, and clung on for dear life.

Inhibited by Andrews' irregular attack, the Operative couldn't ward away Inara's fist, which connected solidly with his face. Zoe kicked out at his knee, driving the support away and forcing him to kneel.

He looked up at her, his face darkening. Zoe had time to frown before the man's anger was unleashed.

He grabbed at Andrews' arms, easily unclasping his hands, and threw the younger man away; crashing him into the shelf Sylvia stored her spices on. Inara was coming at him again, but he rose to his feet and caught her fist in his hand, squeezing and clenching his teeth with exertion. Inara cried out in pain, and this galvanised Zoe into action.

The first mate tried to imitate the manoeuvre the Operative had performed on Jayne, but he batted her arm away with his free hand. He tossed the Companion aside, and turned to face Zoe, blood starting to drip from his nose. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled as they faced each other, sizing each other up. He grinned at the woman, his teeth stained faintly red – Inara must have gotten him better than she had thought.

Zoe launched an offensive, no anger within her – the calm of battle settled fully onto her mind – and the two combatants exchanged a swift exchange of fists. Each blow was blocked or deflected, neither party gaining the upper hand, until Zoe sneaked an attack past the Operative's armoured arm by feinting with her other hand. She connected with his chest, and then followed up with another punch to his face, driving him backwards.

Jayne staggered up then, still choking for breath, and caught the Operative around the shoulders, looping his arms under the Operative's, forcing the other man's arm to stick out at an awkward angle.

Zoe reined clenched fists down onto the contained man, striking with no mercy at all of his weakest points. The man's armour, however, contained much of the damage she was inflicting and soon her knuckles were starting to bleed, the skin flaking away in layers. She ignored the pain and started to focus on his face, hoping to drive him unconscious, but the Operative had been waiting for this.

Utilising his legs that were suddenly free from Zoe's attention, he lashed out with his foot and drove it squarely into her gut. The woman fell away, winded, and the Operative started to bring that same foot down into Jayne's shin, again and again. The man holding him grunted with each strike until he could bear the pain no more. He brought his leg away, trying to remove it from the Operative's range, but it was his undoing.

With Jayne only supporting himself on one leg, the Operative threw himself backwards, and the two men fell awkwardly to the ground. The wooden floorboards creaked audibly with the strain, and Jayne's grip was loosened. The Operative shook off his captor's grasp, leaving the mercenary groaning on the floor.

Inara and Zoe both faced him now, Andrews still gasping in the wreckage of the shelf.

Zoe came at him first, but she was still weakened by the man's last attack. He overpowered her easily, driving through her attacks with brute force, and threw her to the ground before Inara could even think about attacking.

Almost not seeming to be worth his attention, the Operative simply took the punch that Inara threw, and then grabbed her by the shoulders. He shoved her aside, the Companion landing in a heap next to Andrews, and the man had won.

Zoe spat blood onto the floor and stared fiercely at the Operative. "What do you want?" she said.

He smiled again, looking as though the rage they had just faced hadn't existed. "Always asking the right questions," he told Zoe. Then he straightened and addressed the whole room. "Where are Malcolm Reynolds, Simon Tam, and the young Trainee they have kidnapped?"

**.:-:.:Earlier That Morning:.:-:.**

"What do you have in mind?" asked Simon.

Mal clenched his fist unconsciously – even thinking about taking action had his adrenaline pumping. After so long being on the run, powerless, helpless and clueless about what was happening around them, he was ready to take the bull by the horns, with complete disregard to personal safety, and take the fight to their enemy.

"The Alliance is on their way here. Could be a few hours from now, or even a few days, but they're comin'. I doubt y'all made it off that cruiser without them somehow knowin' which way you headed – escape pod trajectories, trackin' devices, whatever gadgets they've cooked up since we vanished off the radar."

Simon was frowning, and interrupted Mal. "When I escaped, they shot me with something. I wondered why they hadn't just killed me, but…it must have been a tracker." Mal was eyeing him cautiously, but he allayed his fears quickly. "Don't worry – it's out of me now. But I think that's what it was."

"There's no guarantee they can't still see you on their scope," said Mal, thinking as he thought.

"But the chip is out," Simon objected. Mal shook his head, pacing along the rail of the open air corridor.

"This whole thing has taught me not to take anythin' for granted or as a given. Nothing is as it seems – that's what they do; they're like cheap magicians. Show you one hand to distract the eye while the other hand's gettin' ready to stab you in the back. And it's not just the Alliance – seems like the 'verse itself is startin' to play tricks on us. Friends who are enemies, and guys you should be fightin' windin' up sleepin' in the same room as you… No, we don't know that they can't track you, so we don't take the chance."

"Well…okay. So what do we do about it?"

Mal thought for approximately thirty more seconds before replying. He turned back to Simon with a gleam in his eye.

"Like you said, they could've shot you. Why didn't they? It's because they wanted to wait 'til we were all gathered in the same place. They haven't tagged the _rest_ of us, so how would they know where we are? No, if I know the Alliance – and I'd like to think that I do – they'll have your location locked into the navsat on a troop transport headed here now. They'll do a covert reconnaissance of the area, see how many of us are here, and then wipe out the entire site from orbit."

"Only if all of us are here," said Simon, catching on. "I can't stay here, then. I'm risking everyone else." But Mal shook his head again.

"Too late for that. They know where this village is now, 'cause you stayed here for a few hours. They're on their way here anyhow. What we need to do is make sure that once they get here, they can't find all of us."

"We leave, you mean? That puts us right back at square one. Separated, we don't present any threat to them. They can run each of us down until we tire and falter. Together, we can present a unified front."

"And if _you_ leave, they can probably track you through the forest anyway."

"Well…if I leave and…had some sort of leverage," supposed Simon, and Mal didn't dissuade him. He was watching the doctor closely; seeing how much the forest had changed him. Simon looked up suddenly. "That Trainee," he said, and Mal nodded. "But they've been brainwashed to throw away their lives if the Alliance snaps their fingers. They wouldn't hesitate to just kill him and then us. And he'd be glad to make the sacrifice."

"Exactly the roadblock I hit," said Mal. "I've lain in bed for hours, starin' up at the ceiling and tryin' to think of a way to use this poker chip we don't know the value of. There must be some way of usin' the Trainee, but I can't think of what it is."

Both men stared out at the quiet village, the faint breeze stirring the dust that formed the paths leading from hut to hut; one nonplussed, but the other with the smallest kernel of an idea developing in his mind. It seemed ridiculous – but the more he thought about it, the more he seemed to think it would work.

Simon looked up to see Mal analysing his expression. He seemed to instinctively know that the doctor was operating on some level of contemplation that he didn't want to interrupt. Simon moved his lips apart slowly, hesitant to impart the idea, but sheer incredulity allowed him to give it a voice.

"We give him to the creatures."

Before Mal's brow could even crease in bewilderment, Simon held up his hand, waving away the thought before the other man had a chance to reply.

"No, never mind. That's ridiculous."

Mal's eyebrow rocketed. "You can't make a statement like that and expect me to be bubbly with joy with that description."

Simon sighed, the emotions of the previous day rising up to the surface and choking his thoughts and actions. "I, uh…" But he stopped then, unable to go further.

With the doctor's lower lip trembling, Mal patted his shoulder awkwardly in an attempt to relieve some of the emotion from him. After several laboured moments, Simon composed himself enough to speak.

"I don't want to get into it," he managed to say around the lump in his throat. "But there are creatures out in that forest, and they are intelligent."

"Intelligent how?"

"Enough to present a threat to a Trainee." Simon's face twisted, recalling the Trainee he had encountered. In parallel, the full import of what the Alliance were doing here hit him. "They set a class of them loose, and they have to kill one of these creatures before they are killed. It's barbaric. But that leverage you were talking about. I think they would accept a gift; one of the people hunting them. They might be able to help us."

Mal was looking at him, half impressed and half disbelieving. "What if _they_ don't accept?" The almost undetectable trace of sarcasm in his voice was lost to Simon.

"They'll probably kill us."

Mal started to rub his chin, analysing what Simon had said. Something in the doctor's voice made him want to believe the outrageous statement he had just made. The words of the sentence made him want to discount any possibility of truth, but _something_ had happened to Simon out there, and even before then the doctor had never been one susceptible to such flights of fancy.

"What the hell," he said finally. "Come on – help me tie him up."

And so, several hours later, three men found themselves heading deep into the wilderness of the forest, one whose movements were severely restricted by the yards of rope tied around his body, towards a small concrete structure.

Simon was breathing heavily, the sweat rolling from his body. He was wearing the jacket the Alliance survival kit had provided for him, still shirtless after the creature had ripped it from his body. Though most of the mud and grime had been rubbed from his body by either the passage of time or moisture from his body, he was still considerably grubby and the detritus stuck to his body still did a serviceable job at containing his body heat. Mal was slightly better off, but not so much as the Trainee, who didn't appear to be suffering at all, despite the fact that his arms were tied down to his body. The Captain was heavily favouring his left leg as he walked, but he had waved away Simon's offer to take a look at it, claiming it would waste too much time.

Mal hadn't had the chance to look at the man properly yet, having seen him only once before by the light of one candle. He was young, maybe thirty. He didn't appear to be the kind of man who would throw down his life for, in Mal's eyes, a worthless cause. But then, that was the point, surely? Mal wouldn't give him a second look passing him on the street – all the better for the man to be able to attack Mal's exposed back.

"This isn't going to work," said Simon, his breath ragged in his chest, and Mal stopped walking suddenly. He turned to face the doctor, looping the rope he was leading the Trainee by around his fist. Simon looked at him warily, but Mal simply thought a break was in order.

"Catch your breath," he told the doctor, and Simon leant against a nearby tree, loosening the rope he held the Trainee by. The theory was that if the Trainee attacked one of them, the other could control him by pulling on the rope they both carried. But bitter experience had taught them to expect the unexpected, and so Mal kept one hand near to his pistol and Simon walked with his shoulders tense, ready to push back against any possible attack.

The Trainee had also been gagged, due to Simon insisting. Mal reckoned there was more behind the doctor's instruction than a simple desire for the man's silence, but didn't probe further. Mal took the opportunity to assess the landscape ahead, judging how far they had to travel and how long it would take them.

A few patters of rain had started to fall, accentuated by a flash of lightning and a rumble of thunder a few seconds later. The sky had darkened almost black overnight, so although the sun was up, it was impossible to gauge the time.

The silence didn't last for long. "This isn't going to work," repeated Simon. Mal turned to face him, but the other man's face was full of concern, rather than criticism.

"And why's that?"

"They're just going to kill us all and be done with it. It's in their nature; they're not the kind to ask questions first."

"Well this is your plan," said Mal, spreading his arms wide. "What do you suggest…"

Before Mal could finish the sentence, an earth shattering roar blistered through the forest, seeming like it was rattling the leaves on the trees around them. Both Mal and Simon instinctively flinched from the sound, and even the Trainee looked on edge, tensing himself against the onslaught.

It felt like it lasted for minutes, though the duration of the cry could not have been more than thirty seconds. It ebbed away, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. Mal and Simon looked to each other, shaken.

"What the rut was that?" whispered Mal, treating the quiet with a newfound reverence in awe of the bellow. Simon looked like he was actually quivering, but at the same time his face was filled with resolution. An odd combination of emotion, but Mal had seen it before; on the faces of the soldiers he'd commanded at Serenity Valley. Whatever that thing was, Simon was terrified of it, but he would stand in its way and face it if necessary.

Simon didn't answer straight away, and Mal had to prompt him into responding. The doctor blinked, as though he'd been roused from a deep reverie.

"One of those things I encountered…one of those creatures," he said, the latter end of the sentence rushing out of his mouth, as if they would be easier to say if he spat it out quickly. Mal's eyebrow arched.

"Walks like a man, strength of ten men?" asked Mal, reiterating the words of the hunter he and Inara had interviewed.

"Something like that," replied Simon. "It, uh, it gave me this." He pulled back the sleeve of his survival jacket, revealing something Mal hadn't noticed amid the layer of dirt that had been covering Simon's body when he had appeared at the village.

A strange device was strapped to his forearm, travelling halfway along it from his wrist. What it was Mal couldn't guess, but the Trainee had a more adverse reaction.

He tried to back away from Simon, his eyes widening slightly in their sockets. Mal pulled the rope taut and brought him back in line, but he gestured that Simon come closer to their captive.

The Trainee almost flinched, trying to move away from whatever the device was that Simon carried. The two men exchanged a significant glance.

"So how do we find them?" asked Mal, still humbled by the sheer volume and intensity of the sound that had just reverberated throughout the forest.

Simon glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "You aren't going to like it," he said.

Mal shrugged. "Not much I do like about the last week."

Simon nodded. Then he straightened out fully, drew a deep breath, and bellowed at the top of his lungs for as long as his breath could sustain it.

Or rather, he would have, had Mal not sped across the distance between them and grappled the doctor to the ground, smothering his mouth.

"What are you _thinking_?" he hissed, but any further noise was drowned out by a responding roar that was joined by others, shattering the calm of the forest. Gooseflesh rippled along Mal's arms and spine as the uproar continued, other creatures joining the original cry, adding their own strength to the volume of noise they were creating. After what felt like hours the noise died down, but the silence was met not by relief but by a terrible sense of foreboding.

Simon's eyes seemed to smile, and Mal released his grip from the doctor's mouth; a grip that had tensed with fear. He revealed that Simon had been smiling, and presently he explained himself.

"I said you weren't going to like it," said Simon and Mal nearly hit the other man on reflex.

"Not like it? I didn't think you were going to get us _killed_," said Mal vehemently.

"They know where we are now," Simon said simply. "They're coming."

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"I'll ask again, in case my voice was not loud enough to reach some of your ears." The Operative spoke several volumes higher. "Where are Malcolm Reynolds and Simon Tam?"

No one spoke. The stillness of the room was palpable after the physical struggle they had just endured, magnified when a rumble of thunder cut through the quiet.

Suddenly the Operative marched to the remains of the spice shelf and lifted Andrews from it. Still weak from his torture and recently beaten easily physically, the man offered nearly no resistance to his attacker. The Operative threw him onto the table they had all been eating from, sending bowls and utensils and gruel spraying across the room. He closed one hand around Andrews' throat and narrowed his eyes.

"Where are they?" he asked, and Andrews could only grunt in reply. He loosened his grip, allowing the younger man to speak.

"I don't kn…" he said, but then the Operative squeezed again, trapping the final sound in his throat. The New Independent's face started to turn red, and Zoe stirred on the ground, resistance perhaps surfacing in her mind. The Operative saw the movement and pointed at Zoe with his free hand.

"Stay down," he growled, and the woman complied. He turned back to Andrews. "Where?"

"Why would I tell you?" he asked once his throat had been released. "You tortured me!"

"You have no loyalty to these people. If you tell me where to find Reynolds, maybe the Alliance would be willing…"

"Bullsh – " said Andrews, cut off again by suffocation. Taking a look into Andrews' eyes, the Operative saw that the man wasn't going to be broken a second time with just his fist at his disposal, and he roughly discarded the man onto the floor.

He turned to Zoe. "You. Tell me."

Zoe smiled. "All of this premeditation and you seem to have forgotten 'bout one of us. Someone the Alliance wants dead probably more than the rest of us put together."

The man smirked. "River Tam is no longer a threat to us. Since she unearthed the truth about Miranda, there are no more damaging secrets lurking in her brain. Project Nightmare began months after her escape."

"But she can still kick your ass."

"She is not my mission. She's being dealt with by…another."

"Someone more qualified?"

The remark wasn't intended as an insult; Zoe merely wanted to tick the conversation along to see how much information she could pump this Operative for. But when she saw how his eyes darkened and his face contorted with suppressed anger, she knew that the unintended barb had sunk deep. He started towards her, and she did not know what he might have done, but just at that moment a loud rumbling disturbed him.

It wasn't thunder. It began as a distant sound, but it grew in intensity until the table was rattling on the floorboards and all of Sylvia's ornaments had been shaken off their perches. It got so loud that it seemed as though the very roof was going to tear off, the bowls of their breakfast splattering their contents onto the floor and bouncing along the wood. Brilliant light streaked in through the cracks in the structure's walls, sharply illuminating parts of the room and casting the remainder into the blackest shadow.

The Operative abandoned the room and rushed outside, his eyes cast towards the sky. Zoe was up straight after him, rousing Jayne with a kick to the ribs and lifting Inara more gently from the ground. Then she followed the man from the room, leaving Inara and Jayne to bring along Andrews.

Her breath caught in her throat as she left the hut.

"Oh my God…"

**.:-:.:Earlier That Morning:.:-:.**

"They might be coming, but you're going – 'round the twist," said Mal, nervously sitting back and away from the doctor, casting his eyes all around the forest around them, trying to look for some trace of the creatures that were capable of making such noises. But he was focussed on one particular patch of the glade, and then he was up and cursing, racing away from Simon.

The doctor looked up, confused, and quickly saw what Mal had been so worried about.

The Trainee was gone.

Instantly Simon was up, chasing after the rapidly diminishing figure of Mal as he vanished into the forest ahead of him. Desperate to keep up, Simon tried to force the consequences of losing the Alliance puppet from his mind, but they were too quick for him. Being killed by the creatures was at the top of a large list, and he willed his legs to carry him faster along the loamy undergrowth of the forest.

But Mal ducked underneath a large bush, and when Simon travelled underneath the same foliage just moments later, the man ahead of him had disappeared.

Simon slowed in his mad dash through the local flora, trying to catch a glimpse of Mal's telltale brown coat through the branches and leaves, but he couldn't see anything. He stopped completely, trying to catch his breath, turning around in a wide circle that he hoped covered the full view of his surroundings.

Thunder rumbled overhead, preceded shortly before by a flash of lightning. The storm was getting closer, and the rain was starting to get heavier, making loud splats as it hit the trees above him, clogging up the air itself by increasing its moisture content. No birds sang as they had done the previous day, and the local wildlife was subdued, making it all the more difficult for Simon to detect the direction in which Mal had travelled. Normally he might have been alerted by a flock of startled birds as Mal had passed by them, but today there was nothing, only a stifling, close silence.

He must have been standing there for several minutes, the feeling of dread growing with the knowledge that Mal was getting further and further away with every passing second, when he looked up at the tree directly in front of him.

He gave a startled cry and staggered backwards, and as if to accentuate the moment there was another stab of lightning.

One of the creatures was perched in the tree, looking down at him with the glare characteristic to its race. Simon didn't know how long it had been there, but it had crept up on him completely undetected. Terror rose in his gut as he realised what a foolish idea this was, to stumble out into the wilderness with nothing more than fleeting idea, to try and harness something as feral, wild and untamed as these beings.

He gave another start as a rustling alerted him to the presence of another creature behind him, stepping out from behind the cover of a bush. All around him, the creatures were melting into view, staring at him haughtily.

Most of them held some kind of metallic blade.

They were walking towards him with a purpose, surrounding him with their superior numbers, when something snapped inside of Simon. He dredged up the knowledge of everything he could remember about the other creature through the silt waters of his memory, and took action.

He barked suddenly, emitting a meaningless noise that served only to attract attention, and in that he certainly succeeded. The creatures as one stopped in their advance, several cocking their heads to the side in puzzled contemplation. They seemed not to care that the rain was running down them in torrents, pouring from their armour in a collection of spouts.

Moving quickly, Simon worked up the sleeve of his jacket, part of his mind that was clinically detached noting that the rain was quickly cleansing him of the mud and fruit ooze he had been covered in. He almost tore the alien device from his forearm, and held it aloft, spinning around so that all of the assembled beings standing about him could see. He took the opportunity to guess at a number to place on their group, and guessed that there approximately a dozen, all of slightly different skin hue and decorated differently; some with helmets, others with more ornate, or no armour at all.

And they were all looking at him in that strange way, not moving forward, but not moving away, either. The device had served as a way of communication, as Simon saw that many of the creatures around him had similar contraptions strapped to their arms. They were looking to the device held above his head, to Simon's face, and then back again in quick succession, as though they were trying to determine the correlation between the two.

After several long moments, the creature Simon had first seen jumped from the tree and took three steps forward. Simon whirled to face it, but it stopped at that distance. It held out its hand, pointed towards the device and made a short series of clicks in the back of its throat.

Trembling with fear, Simon held out the device towards it, as if to hand it the device, and its hand reached up to take it, but at the last moment – with all the audacity and every ounce of courage he could muster within him – snapped it back away, denying it ownership. Its head cocked to the side again in that puzzled expression. Blinking away the rain that gathered at his eyes, Simon spat some water from his lips and started to talk.

"My friend," he said in a normal tone. But then he remembered who he was addressing. Lightning flashed and thunder tore from the sky, scant seconds behind the light, and he tried again. "My friend!" he barked, waving the device about, trying to assert his authority.

The being who appeared to be in charge levelled its gaze at him, sizing him up, but then looked at the creature closest to it. It started to emit those strange clicks again, accentuated by a few grunts between the noises. The other creature flared its mandibles and spread its arms wide, appearing to offer resistance, but the first creature yowled and cuffed it across the top of the head. The second being looked as though it was tensing to return the attack, but after several moments it broke its superior's gaze.

The creature from the tree pointed off into the forest, and the being it had cuffed slunk off in that direction.

Simon decided that this was the creature he was going to have to do business with – the Alpha of whatever this group of beings was called. Its leathery hide was tinged blue, unlike the green of the being Simon had first encountered the day before. It had many more gold clips tied to its hair, or whatever it was sprouting from its head, and it was a great deal bigger than any other creature standing around him. Looking closer, he also saw that the Alpha was laced with scars; a condition it had in common with the rest of its pack. Only three of the beings wore the helmets he had seen the first Trainee utilise, covering their faces, and two held no weapons of any kind, raising their fists in lieu of possessing a blade.

This troupe was in very bad condition, Simon surmised. The helmets were presumably the norm for this race, allowing them a more potent ability of being able to follow whatever prey they hunted. And if he hadn't been hallucinating, the Trainee had also hijacked some technology that allowed her to turn invisible from the first creature, which meant that their race was far more advanced than his own. And maybe that was how the pack had crept up on him so efficiently – he had no way of knowing.

Presently there was a rustling in the bushes, and the second being was pushing Mal into the clearing, and pulling the Trainee behind it with the rope tied around him.

Mal had a wound that was dripping blood from his forehead.

The second creature growled at the Alpha, and its superior flared its mandibles and hissed, tensing to attack the creature of lesser rank. Simon had read about this kind of behaviour before; a young male would often challenge the Alpha's authority in a pack of animals, and eventually they would fight to see who would be the Alpha. He had no way of knowing, but maybe this was the behaviour he was witnessing now.

The second being, tinged slightly orange, submitted to the Alpha's authority again, and brought the Captain to Simon. The doctor shot a warning glance at the other man. Mal's eyes were flaring, and his jaw was set. Simon prayed he would just accept the punishment, because fighting back would lead to a confrontation; one they would be torn apart in.

"Nice crowd," observed Mal. Simon stole a glance sideways at him.

"Don't start anything," he hissed, but Mal didn't respond.

The Alpha was looking expectantly at Simon, intuitively picking up on what he had wanted; namely, Mal. Now that request had been fulfilled, and Simon wasn't sure exactly why. He tried to think of anything that might explain the behaviour, and managed to piece an explanation together.

He held the device of one of the creatures in his hands. In a society of hunters, where the ultimate currency was prowess in battle, something that aided the hunter would be very important, possibly more than life itself. One wouldn't give something like that away willingly in such a society; so presumably, the only way to take it would be to kill the hunter.

Most likely was that the creatures thought that Simon had killed one of their own, and were giving him due respect. They were probably confused because he looked so physically unassuming, which was why they hadn't all rushed him yet – they most likely assumed he had some unknown means powerful enough to destroy one of them easily, because he was no match for any of them at first glance.

"These things have names?" asked Mal, and Simon shook his head minutely.

"I think that blue one is the Alpha," he said, and the creature flared its mandibles as if it somehow knew they were discussing it. "We have to go through him if we want to get the others."

"Alpha? What makes you think that?"

Simon inwardly sighed in nervous suspense, wanting to tell Mal to be quiet and let him think, but if he answered the man's questions then he would avoid a confrontation that might end badly for both of them.

"From what I've seen, they're a race of hunters. As far as I can tell, they only respect strength and live to fight. They seem to think I've killed one of their own by the way I'm carrying around this device." He waved it towards Mal for emphasis. "Some kind of trophy, maybe."

"And that big guy is the Alpha?" asked Mal. Simon felt a feeling of foreboding develop quickly.

"Mal, if you try and fight him he won't back down. You can't muscle your way out of this one."

"I wasn't thinkin' about him," said Mal, and abruptly shoved Simon away from him.

The doctor shot a startled, terrified glance at Mal, and then turned to see if the outburst had antagonised the creatures in any way. All eyes were on them – they seemed to have adopted an expression of surprise.

"What are you _doing?_" hissed Simon, but Mal ignored him. He came at Simon again, and the doctor tried to defend himself. He threw a punch at Mal, but the other man caught it easily and kicked at Simon's leg, driving the doctor to the ground with a wet splat.

Simon drove his foot into Mal's bad knee, and the Captain cried in pain, but then he punched Simon hard in the face. Simon felt his lip split open again, blood starting to pour from the wound. Anger filled him and he tried to lift himself from the ground but Mal shoved him back into the mud. He glared up at the Captain and tried to raise himself again, but Mal pushed him down, not allowing him even a centimetre from the forest floor.

Their eyes met, and something in Mal's expression made him stay on the ground, submitting to his dominance. Mal reached down and snatched the device from Simon's hand, stood for a few moments as if to make sure he wasn't going to try and get up again, and then turned away to address the Alpha.

It was all an act, realised Simon. Mal was trying to buy respect from the Alpha by displaying his power over Simon – the man the creatures thought capable of defeating one of their own.

"I take it y'all can't understand me?" started Mal, not appearing to be fazed at all in addressing a pack of aliens. The Alpha observed him carefully, paying close attention to Mal's bad leg as he limped towards the creature. "No, I didn't think so," he said, answering his own question.

"Just be careful, Mal," called Simon, and the Captain shot an imperious glance to the other man – hopefully part of the act, Simon hoped. Otherwise acting like that would get them killed.

"You're a race of hunters," continued Mal. "Well, I got this now," he said, waving the device practically in the Alpha's face. The creature grunted and shook its head, its grip tensing on its blade. But then Mal did something completely unexpected.

He knelt down on the ground before the Alpha, and presented the device in his outstretched hands to it. The Alpha sniffed cautiously, as surprised as Simon at Mal's sudden reversal of character. But then it released the tension from its body and grabbed the device from Mal, who stayed down on the ground.

"See? We don't want no trouble," said Mal. "What's yours is returned back to you." Then he pointed towards the Trainee, still tied up and held under guard by two of the creatures. His eyes were wide. "And look – another gift. He's one of those who hunt you. Only fair that you do what you will to him."

With that, the Trainee started to scream into his gag, but all that came out was a muffled whisper. Though the Alpha couldn't have understood Mal's words, it was easy, by how the Trainee reacted, to guess what the meaning of them might be.

The Alpha moved towards the Trainee, and then looked back at Mal, who reiterated that the tied up man was a gift by gesturing generously towards him. The Alpha, and several other creatures, started to advance towards the Trainee, who was by now roaring with rage, the sound only reaching the two men's ears as whispers through the rag tied across his mouth.

The other creatures set upon the defenceless man, toying with him at first – batting him between each other, but fell still when the Alpha approached.

It bent down, sniffing the Trainee, examining him closely. The man had fallen silent, his eyeballs bulging into the Alpha's face as if daring it to strike him.

Apparently satisfied, the Alpha turned back to Mal, who held up one of his fingers.

"And that's not all," he said, rising to his feet. He took several confident steps towards the Alpha, whose mandibles flexed open, perhaps as a sign of superiority. Mal ignored the gesture. "We know where they live," he told the creature. He motioned to himself, and then Simon as he continued. "Me, and my pack, we're going to kill them." He finished the sentence by pointing at the captive Trainee. There was another flash of lightning overhead, drowning out all noise in the clearing momentarily with its accompanying crack of thunder.

The Alpha finally started to communicate with Mal, having maintained its silence until now. It started to make those odd clicks with its mouth, and then with great force slammed its hands into its chest. It barked sharply at Mal, and then walked back over to the Trainee, grabbing the man by his hair. Its eyes dared Mal to contradict whatever it had just said.

"It doesn't understand you," said Simon from across the clearing. He was standing up now, aware of the crackling tension coming from the Alpha. In its eyes, Mal had just tried to reclaim ownership of the Trainee. "You have to communicate with gestures. They don't know our language. You just tried to take back the Trainee."

Mal's shoulders tensed as he realised his mistake, suddenly aware of the dozen gleaming blades edging closer to him, just waiting for the word of the Alpha that commanded them to surge forward and take the lives of these two interlopers. Simon shuffled forward, careful to appear subservient at all times. To the Alpha's eyes, he was inferior both to itself and to Mal now.

More practiced than Mal at communicating with these beings, Simon tried to best convey what Mal had just said.

He started by reassuring the Alpha that the Trainee was theirs, by repeating the generous gesture Mal had made when he first offered them the man. The Alpha grunted cautiously, but made no further moves. Aware that one false move could kill them, Simon continued carefully.

He pointed off into the forest, and for a moment he almost chuckled at the Alpha when it looked off in that direction, not understanding that Simon simply meant it as a generic motion. He pointed to Mal, himself, and then to the entire clearing, sweeping all of the beings gathered there together with the gesture. He pointed back into the forest, and this time the creature seemed to understand.

The Alpha shook the Trainee's head and then pointed in the same direction Simon had indicated. The doctor nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes. Yes!" he exclaimed. Some of the creatures looked at him oddly, but he ignored them. The Alpha was the only one that mattered, after all. "The Trainees are out there. We're going to get them."

The Alpha looked to Mal, then at Simon, and then back to Mal, obviously trying to figure out this odd pair. After its contemplation it released the Trainee's hair from its grip, shoving the man away from him.

It drove its clenched fist to its chest twice in quick succession, and then repeated the gestures that Simon had made. It grunted and looked at Mal, but this time there was less aggression in its poise.

Then it drew its blade.

Mal tensed for an attack, but that wasn't the Alpha's motive. It drew the cold metal across its arm, cutting deep into the flesh. Bright green blood flowed from the wound, and it clapped its hand over the tear in its flesh. With its hand covered in its blood, the Alpha moved towards Mal and smeared its handprint onto his chest.

Mal looked distastefully at the fluid dripping from his coat. "D'you think this'd be a bad time to mention I just had this cleaned?" he asked Simon, and the doctor moved to hush Mal quickly.

"Don't joke, Mal. Not a good time."

Ignoring the doctor, Mal reached out his hand to the nearest creature. After a moment, its blade was thrust into his hand and he unflinchingly repeated the ceremony, digging the blade into the flesh of his left forearm. Smearing the blood on his hand, he took great satisfaction in slapping his palm onto the Alpha's armour, making as much of a mess as he could manage on the creature. It didn't seem to mind.

"We could'a just shook on it," said Mal, but the creature didn't understand him. It moved away from Mal, and the surrounding hunters followed the motion, the hostility melting away from them. Simon moved to Mal's side.

"Let me check that…" he began, motioning for Mal's arm, but he cut the doctor off.

"No. No, I think it's important to them. We'd best not risk pissin' 'em off, right?"

"…Right," agreed Simon reluctantly. Mal glanced at him as the last of the hunters moved away from them, heading towards the Alpha and the Trainee on the other side of the clearing. The doctor's eyes were wide and his hands were trembling slightly.

"You seem better."

"Hmm? Oh, yes. I think that the adrenaline is blocking out any negative thought. Any second now I'm going to collapse into a gibbering wreck."

"Don't do that on me just yet. I need you to translate for me. Don't think I'm too good at it."

"Do you understand what just happened?"

Mal snorted. "Do you?"

"I think so. As long as we're hunting together, we're allies. They seem to think we are one pack, and you're its Alpha. It's a shame, really."

Mal looked worried. "Why's that?"

"Because as soon as they realise we aren't as strong as they think we are, I think they're going to turn on us."

"And that means…"

"Yes. They'll tear us apart."

The two men watched as the hunters gathered around the Trainee, the Alliance agent trying to get to his feet through the bindings wrapped around him. The hunters took great pleasure in this, forcing him back down to the ground by cuffing him sharply, removing the weight from under his legs.

"That doesn't sound like fun," admitted Mal. "Well, we're just gonna have to make sure they don't find out, aren't we?"

Simon nodded mutely, observing the group fall still as the Alpha approached once again. This time the Alpha let the Trainee get to his feet, and motioned to the other hunters. They stepped forward, releasing the bonds of the captive.

"What are they…?" demanded Mal, taking an unconscious step forward. But Simon placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Do you really think he's going to get very far?" he asked. "They know what they're doing."

The Trainee's rope was untied, leaving him free and uninhibited. The Alpha snorted and pointed at the man, and the other hunters formed a loose circle around the pair as they squared off.

The fight was over quickly. The Trainee tried to rush the Alpha, but the vastly more experienced combatant evaded the attack and grappled the man to the ground. With a brutal wrench it savagely twisted the Trainee's neck, and a loud crack echoed across to Simon and Mal. As Simon winced, the Alpha stood amid the cries of its peers.

"Not much need for silence now, huh?" observed Mal. Simon shook his head.

"I don't think it matters anymore. This isn't a hunt. This is war for them."

"What do you think they're going to do?" asked Mal with the slight edge of apprehension in his voice.

Simon shook his head, his eyes widening with speculation. "I'm not sure…but I expect it'll be large and violent."

The hunters were beating themselves into a frenzy, putting up those awe inspiring roars as they tore the body of the Trainee apart, painting themselves with his blood.

Then they were away, bounding into the forest, leaving Mal and Simon to trail behind them.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"Oh my God," whispered Zoe as she left the hut, but her voice couldn't be heard above the force shaking the building they had emerged from.

The Operative stood shielding his eyes from the sky, paying them no heed now. Following the direction of his gaze, she found a spot on the horizon that caused her innards to turn to ice.

The sky was white, contrasting starkly with the storm clouds shielding the moon from the sun. And in the far distance, a mushroom cloud was billowing up from the ground.

A/N:

_Sorry it's overdue. I've been updating weekly on Tuesdays 'til now, not for any reason but it just turned out that way. This was initially going to be one big chapter, but then I had an idea for it and it would have been too long, so I split it into two. Then I was just about to upload it and I had another idea that required I re-write a large chunk of it, and then I had a lot of work to do last week, so it's just getting updated now. The next one might be longer than normal between updates too, because that's another big one at first look!_

_Thanks to those who reviewed and read: epm00012004, Blues Scale, Cosmic Castaway and MAndrews._

_Also: double figures on the chapter count, and Nightmare now has a greater word count than Void in two fewer chapters!_


	11. Day Two: Beginnings and Ends

**Day Two**

**Beginnings and Ends**

The sounds of the gunfire reached them before they could see the disturbance, but Mal knew what was happening. The Hunters had reached the Alliance compound ahead of them and were reigning havoc upon the soldiers there.

He motioned Simon to stop running, his bad knee burning along with the wound that was bleeding freely from his left forearm. His breath was ragged in his chest, and he struggled against the inclination to simply collapse from sheer exhaustion. The rain was driving down around them in torrents, and thunder alongside lightning frequently tore at the sky.

The doctor, not having seen Mal's face for however long they had been running, trying to keep up with the pack of Hunters, was shocked by his drawn skin and how pale he was. He rushed to Mal's side, trying to give him support, but Mal waved him away.

"No," gasped Mal. "No time. Y'understand? There's four ships. We need one."

"Four ships?" asked Simon. He was catching his own breath, though Mal was speaking from a far worse off place than he. "What about…?"

"No," said Mal again, referring to the Hunters. "Forget them. They're dangerous. We need to leave. Get the others."

"So we're just going to use them and leave them behind?" demanded Simon, outraged. Mal stood and started to stagger towards the gunfire ahead of them.

"Yeah. That's the plan. They're animals, Doctor. Can't forget that."

Suddenly he grunted and doubled over in pain, clutching at his leg. This time Simon did support him, but only because Mal couldn't dissuade him in time.

"Is it your knee?" asked Simon, and Mal nodded, biting his tongue against the pain. Simon lifted the other man up, supporting him across his shoulders. Mal tried to pull away, but Simon roughly quashed any resistance from the captain, and he allowed the doctor to all but carry him towards the disturbance.

"I thought you were made from sterner stuff than this," commented Simon dryly.

"Damned right I am," replied Mal, his words slurring slightly. "Like steel. Just a bit rusty."

By now Mal had caught his breath somewhat, and broke free of Simon's support. The doctor didn't try to stop him this time.

"This is gonna be rough," said Mal. Simon paced evenly besides him, ready to catch the other man if he were to fall again.

"What's the plan?" he asked, wincing as something exploded not far away.

"Break this cover, spot a ship, and run as fast as we can towards it."

"…That's not much of a plan."

Mal nodded. "You're not wrong, Doctor."

With that, he broke through the tree line and out into the open.

A fortified entrance to an underground facility jutted from the ground in the middle of a wide, open space where the dirt was exposed and all of the tress had been ripped up. The troop transports Mal had mentioned loomed beyond the facility entrance, though there was something different – there were five ships on the ground.

The Hunters had overwhelmed the advance guard and were pressing the offensive on the entrance to the facility. Two were lying still on the ground, lacerated with bullet wounds, but the rest of their pack were tearing the surprised Alliance troops apart.

"C'mon!" shouted Mal, unnecessarily as Simon was keeping pace beside him.

The two men neared the first of the five ships just as the rear hatch popped open with the sharp intake of depressurisation. Mal grabbed at Simon's shoulder, and pulled the doctor to the side of the vessel and out of the view of the hatch.

Before the metal ramp had even hit the ground, Alliance soldiers were swarming out of the rear of the ship, the rain sweeping in a wave towards their faces as their heavy boots hit the muddy ground with loud squelches. They opened fire on the Hunters, letting the efficiency of their training overwhelm their shock upon seeing such creatures assembled in front of them.

The Hunters adapted quickly to their new combat environment, sweeping back along the landing area towards the soldiers with inhuman speed. Two more of their number fell into the boggy ground, and several more sustained bullet wounds, but within moments they were among the ranks of the Alliance troops. Horrifying yowls leapt from the throats of the Hunters as they flashed about with their blades, which found little difficulty in cleaving through metal, flesh or bone. The agonised cries of the soldiers soon sang along with those of the Hunters, blending together in a disjointed, terrible melody.

Pinned to the side of the landing craft, Mal produced his pistol and decided to attempt to cut a way through the carnage unfolding around them towards the rear hatch. He squeezed off several rounds from his weapon, each finding its mark of an Alliance soldier, but with his attention on the troops he failed to account for what was behind him.

A metallic droning whined from inside the transport, and a hatch slid aside to reveal a formidable automated weapons system. The whining grew louder as the turret was extended outside the ship, and this was when Simon noticed it.

His eyes widened in surprise and horror as he lifted himself from against the landing craft, calling to Mal as he did so. The captain looked around from his vantage point, realising too late what was happening.

A bullet exploded into Simon's side, blood spraying from the wound as the turret span to life, dealing rapid bursts of death into the assembled melee. Alliance soldiers fell equally along with the Hunters as the automated weapons system emptied a devastating number of rounds into the fray.

The doctor staggered back into the side of the landing craft, grunting in stunned agony. He slid sideways along the metal surface, leaving a trail of blood behind him as he hit the ground hard. He didn't move after that

Mal grit his teeth, expecting to suffer along with the rest of the beings assembled around the ship, but no bullet found its mark through him. Thinking fast, he stooped to a fallen Alliance soldier's body, wincing as the ground burst with a bullet impact before his outstretched hand, and unlatched a grenade from the man's belt. He unclipped the explosive, flipped the pin from the device and staggered towards the turret, his knee screaming in protest with every agonised step. He tossed the grenade under the turret into the ship itself, and threw himself to the side, covering Simon's body with his own.

The ship's hull was fortified against such attacks, but this did not spare the turret its fate. A violent explosion erupted from the turret's hatch, spewing out fire and metallic debris, and the weapon was silent.

Mal was quick to look up from sheltering his face, assessing his surroundings. Though the ground was littered with the dead, a number of Alliance soldiers were making their way towards the ship from the entrance of the facility, making Mal's victory a very hollow one.

He raised his pistol once again, starting to fire at the approaching troops. He caught one soldier in the chest, but his comrades lifted their rifles and aimed them square at Mal.

From around the reinforcements, the dead became alive again. Three Hunters rose from beneath the sea of corpses, their blades gleaming even in the dull light of the morning. Too shocked even to scream, the soldiers tried to bring their weapons about to retaliate, but the Hunters moved with a brutal efficiency, their blades cutting through the men like hot knives through butter.

And along with the Hunters came more movement – Alliance troops who had sought cover from the turret on the ground. Mal blinked and came to reassess every dead body as a potential threat, his pistol moving to seek out the rising enemies from their apparent death, firing every time he thought he saw movement.

The last of the reinforcements was cut down just as the first undead trooper fired. One of the three Hunters caught the bullet in the back, and it turned as if incredulous to face the direction in which the bullet had came. The same trooper let loose another burst of fire, and the Hunter was laced with the rounds, falling to its knees. One of Mal's bullets found its mark inside the trooper, but too late for the Hunter – it slumped to the muddy ground, dead.

One of the remaining two Hunters hacked downwards with its blade, cutting deep into the chest of a soldier on the ground. After the gurgled breath the soldier released, the field fell silent but for the patter of the heavy drops of rain falling from the sky.

Mal realised that the two Hunters left were the Alpha and the creature who had challenged it earlier in the day. With one eye and his pistol trained cautiously on the pair, Mal's hand sought out Simon's throat. A weak pulse throbbed under Mal's finger, but the doctor was unconscious. He allowed his attention to drift from the two Hunters to Simon's wound, and saw that the injury was a clean one – the bullet has passed straight through his body, but there was a gruesomely large hole gaping from the doctor's back.

A sharp stab of emotion hit Mal as he regarded the fallen doctor. He hadn't asked for any of this – they had all been plucked from their lives and cast asunder; innocent victims of a large, brutal, elaborate game being played out by shadowy figures beyond their ability to deal with. Now Simon lay in a puddle of mud, his blood seeping from his body into the soil of this God forsaken moon.

He jumped suddenly as a sharp report stunned him from his reverie. The orange Hunter had just been punched by the dominant blue Alpha.

Mal immediately saw why this was a bad thing. The orange Hunter had been striding towards him, its blade raised in a way that spoke volumes to Mal, even though he could not understand the creature's dialect. For reasons beyond Mal's ability to fathom, the orange Hunter had moved to kill the two men, and the Alpha, for some reason, had stopped it.

An ugly fight quickly broke out between the two Hunters; their animosity had clearly been building for a long time, waiting to break to the surface and consume both of the creatures. Mal could see that this was an important social contest; a fight to the death that ensured leadership for one of the combatants.

Disregarding all of that, he rose unsteadily to his feet and started to blast rounds at the orange creature, luminous green blood spraying from the wounds he was creating. The orange Hunter cast him a look of shock, and this was all the opening the Alpha needed. It stepped forward quickly, its blade flashing upwards and it sank the strong metal into its opponent. It withdrew the sword and stabbed it repeatedly, ensuring the creature's demise.

After twitching slightly in the Alpha's grasp, the orange Hunter dropped to the muddy ground with a loud splat. The Alpha regarded its corpse for several moments, and then even it was startled slightly when Mal started to fire again, unloading the rest of his clip into the body of the orange Hunter. The Alpha fixed a steady look at the captain.

Mal looked almost defensive. "Just checkin'. I don't want that thing gettin' up and followin' me."

Then he took a step back as the Alpha continued to stare dangerously at him, realising that he might have made a serious social faux pas against the Alpha. He quickly moved to reload his weapon, but he found it was unnecessary. The Alpha raised its blade and started to cut from the body of the fallen Hunter, and Mal stooped to lift Simon from the ground. The doctor stirred slightly from his unconscious state, lifting his weight slightly as Mal started to stagger towards the ramp leading into the transport, their boots sinking into the boggy mire around the ship.

With a sickening wrench, the Alpha tore the orange Hunter's spine from its body, and then cut the creature's head off. Mal bit back a wave of nausea as the wet tearing sounds the body was making reached his ears, and instead focussed on making it up the ramp into the ship without losing his balance, because he knew that any moment now more Alliance troops would be pouring out of the facility behind him and that every second counted.

To his surprise, however, the Alpha appeared beside him, lifting Simon with its free hand, the other clutching the trailing spine of the orange Hunter. Mal gave it a wary look, but it stared straight ahead, almost seeming to completely ignore him. His feet afforded him greater stability as he stepped onto the transport, through the wall of water the rain was creating as it fell from the top of the rear hatch.

A dismayed cry sounded from further inside the ship, and Mal levelled his weapon at the disturbance, firing wildly. Though the ship had been emptied of troops, there were obviously still some crewmembers on board.

The Alpha took the initiative, releasing Simon and marching towards the interior of the ship. Mal was surprised by the sudden shift in weight and staggered to the side, falling to the deck of the ship with a dull thud.

Screams of pain were echoing through the ship, the Alpha tearing a way through the crewmembers still left alive. Mal decided Simon would be relatively safe in this position, and rose to get to the cockpit – wherever it was on this ship.

He limped through the passages of the vessel, wincing as trails of gore led his way, conscious that every second they remained on the ground was another second they could simply be erased from existence by the orbiting cruiser's weapons, which would undoubtedly happen the moment the Operative heard about his little escapade.

The Alpha appeared in a doorway ahead of him, and Mal's heart almost stopped. He paused in mid-stride, speeding up again once he realised what was standing there. He shot a cautionary glare at the creature, but it didn't appear to notice. Instead, it beckoned to Mal, who, curiosity aroused, followed.

Two short corridors and a hatch later, Mal found himself standing in the cockpit of the vessel. He nodded approvingly at the creature, but the Alpha wasn't interested. It gestured at the controls, indicating Mal should fly. Not one to argue with a large, brooding, violent alien being, Mal took the pilot's chair and fired up the ship's engines. Next he raised the rear ramp, hoping that Simon hadn't staggered off the ship in a delirium.

Then he glanced at the creature, frowning. It seemed tense – more than usual. This time it registered his emotion and, even rarer, responded.

It flared its mandibles, and made the most astonishing sound Mal had ever heard. It croaked one word that the captain knew well, but never expected something like the creature to ever utter.

"_Boom."_

Outside, beyond the troop transport, next to the mutilated corpse of the orange Hunter, lay one of the devices the aliens carried strapped to their wrists. It was blinking with red symbols, the meaning of which was clear. It was counting down.

Mal punched the engines.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"Oh my God," whispered Zoe as she exited the hut into the steadily falling rain.

On the horizon, nuclear fire was spewing debris into the lower atmosphere in a mushroom cloud of destruction. The sky was stained a sickly white, casting the entire village in its pale light. A blast of warm air attacked Zoe's eyes, the moisture being evaporated from them quickly. She blinked, trying to regain her ability to see, and the Operative must have been doing the same thing beside her because Jayne chose that exact moment to strike.

His hunting knife flashed through the rain, seeking their enemy's neck, but the Operative somehow sensed the attack, twisting out of the way. The two men continued to fight, but Zoe was distracted from their tussle by something nagging away at the back of her mind.

Or more pointedly, her ears.

A small drone was getting louder above the noise of the rain and the diminishing roar of the explosion. She looked to the sky and saw a small black dot racing away from the explosion, towards the village. She drew a breath to call for the others' attention, but something else drew her attention.

River stood on the far side of the village, staring at her impassively. She held her gaze for several moments, staring through the wall of moisture falling between them, and then raised her hand, beckoning Zoe towards her. There was almost sorrow in her expression, but then she turned and swept elegantly out of Zoe's view.

Though she knew she should call out to the others and warn them of the approaching craft, Zoe found that she couldn't rouse herself to speak. She took an unsteady step towards the hut River had vanished behind, followed by another. Her head turned slightly to the right, as if trying to shake her from this trance she had fallen into. Her throat itched to call out the words that would attract the attention of her companions, but to her horror she found herself simply walking away from them and that they did not notice her leave, too engaged with watching Jayne brawl with the Operative.

An almost ethereal calm descended upon her, drowning out the sounds around her – the falling rain lessened to a patter as it hit the ground, and the thunder seemed like a distant rumble rather than an immediate crash. She reached the hut where River had vanished, and turned the corner.

There was only one place the girl could have gone – inside the hut. Before she could even stop herself, her hand was reaching for the door, and her heart was filled with a great trepidation because she knew that something bad was waiting for her inside. Her free hand ached to draw her weapon, but she found it would not respond to her commands.

Her fist closed around the handle of the door, and she pulled it open.

River stood inside, eyes blank, and next to her, with that smug expression common to those of her particular occupation, stood the female Operative they had encountered on the Alliance cruiser.

The spell was broken, the sound rushed back to her, and Zoe's hand flashed to the weapon strapped by her side. But the Operative was quicker yet, and Zoe found that she had been intercepted before she could even reach the holster.

Zoe brought her free hand, clenched into a fist, towards the Operative's face, but the other woman ducked under the blow, grappling Zoe around the neck. She started to squeeze, and though she struggled with all of her might Zoe could not break her grip. She flailed wildly against the ever-increasing strength being exerted on her throat, but to no avail. The life was being crushed from her body.

The Operative's lips bent down to Zoe's ear until they were scant centimetres apart.

"Zoe," she whispered quickly. "I have something to tell you but you have to stop fighting me."

Zoe knew better than to trust an Operative's dirty tricks, and her words only served to make Zoe redouble her efforts against her captor, fighting now not only against strangulation but the imminent poison of the woman's words. The Operative's iron grip tightened like a noose around her neck, and Zoe found that the effort was being squeezed out of her body. Her efforts growing weaker, she tried to mount a final resistance.

"It's about your husband," said the Operative. Taken completely by surprise, Zoe stopped thrashing in the other woman's arms. The Operative continued.

"He's still alive."

Stunned, Zoe went limp in the Operative's arms. But she was not finished.

"And Malcolm Reynolds knows about it."

By that time enough sense had swam back into Zoe's mind and she started to struggle again, but surprisingly the Operative released her. Zoe span to attack the other woman but she held her hands into the air in a gesture of peace.

Unable to help herself, Zoe glared at the Operative but did not press the attack. "You're lying," she said, but the edge of desperation in her voice was enough to let the Operative know that her information had driven home. Zoe desperately wanted to believe that she was lying, because the consequences of it being true were too dire to consider – what would Zoe have to do to get him back?

"River, get the door," said the Operative. The girl walked obediently to the entrance to the hut and swung it closed. Zoe kept a cautious eye on her – if River was truly under the power of this Operative, then she may have to fight the girl, and she knew how much of an accomplished combatant she was.

The Operative levelled a sympathetic gaze at Zoe. "First of all I want to apologise for the trauma that has been inflicted upon you and – "

"Get to the point," growled Zoe. Her entire body, though wracked with exhaustion, was coiled with a nervous, unspent energy, ready to lash out at her enemy. The Operative nodded, the sympathy leaking from her expression, and Zoe knew that this was the character she would be dealing with. A cold, calculating, heartless bitch from which there was no escape.

"Alright. Here's what you're going to do. You're going to lie to your crewmates. You'll tell them that you saw me walking through the village, followed me, but that I escaped. You found River near where you saw me, unconscious. Then you took River back to the ship Reynolds has commandeered and tell the rest of your crew that I've done something to her. And then you wait for further instructions."

"But what about – " demanded Zoe.

"No," interrupted the Operative, callous derision oozing from her every pore. "You don't get to question me. That's the way things are. I'll contact you at a later date."

She walked past Zoe, deliberately bumping into the woman with her shoulder, and completely exposed her back to her as she addressed River. Zoe could easily draw her weapon, place it to the back of her skull and end her life, and the temptation was sorely felt, but Zoe couldn't do it. Not for the same reasons as before, but because even though she knew the Operative was lying – even though she had watched her husband die in front of her, taken his body and buried it along with Shepherd Book and Mr Universe – there was a small part of her that believed the woman. Because the body they had found on Serenity was so badly mutilated that even she couldn't be sure it belonged to her husband. And presented with even that small chance that Wash was still alive – that somehow there was an explanation; that his death was all some tragic misunderstanding; that he was waiting somewhere for her to come and rescue him – well then, she would take that chance. And if she had to let the Devil walk out of this hut to do it, then so be it.

"Kak dva pal'tsa obossat'," said the Operative. River's eyes rolled into the back of her head and she collapsed to the ground uncomfortably with a crash. She turned back to Zoe. "Be seeing you."

With that she walked from the hut, leaving Zoe trembling with unspent emotion.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

The Operative threw Jayne aside, evading the slash of his knife, and he tried to repeat the manoeuvre he had used on Jayne just minutes ago, but the mercenary, though dim witted, was still capable of learning from his mistakes. He caught the Operative's arm with his free hand and jabbed forward with the knife. The Operative pulled backwards, but the blade's edge cut across his cheek. Blood started to run from the wound, and surprised, the Operative touched it with his fingers, probing the injury.

Anger flashed again in his eyes, but before he could act on it he had to act quickly to dodge the pot that Inara had just thrown at him, the large blunt object flying through the torrents of rain to narrowly miss his head.

Jayne was back on the offensive, cudgelling their enemy with his fists, but the Operative was being distracted again by a loud droning filling the air. Looking up, he saw the massive shape of an Alliance troop transport looming directly overhead, coming in fast. The glance cost the man his combat advantage when Jayne's fist connected solidly with his injured cheek, and the force of the blow sent the Operative staggering backwards. His boot slipped on the muddy ground and he fell back, landing heavily with a splat in a large puddle.

Relentless, Jayne bent over him and jabbed with his knife directly at his eyes, but the Operative managed to roll sideways out of the way. By then Inara had appeared next to Jayne and started to stamp on the Alliance agent, her feet bouncing off his armour but the force of the kicks keeping him on the ground.

The transport was landing in the village square mere meters away, the ramp at the rear unfurling even before the vessel had touched the ground. Mal appeared in the threshold of the ship, his pistol drawn and trained on the Operative, waving the others to him and on board the stolen transport. Inara moved to support Andrews, looping his arm around her neck, and together they started to hobble towards the extended ramp.

"Where's Zoe?" roared Mal over the din of the storm and the engines, but before Inara could reply an answer came from his side.

"Here, sir!" called his first mate as she emerged from the village. She was carrying River, unconscious in her arms. Mal waved her towards the ship and she nodded, hoisting the girl up and onto the vessel, followed close behind by Inara and Andrews. Mal limped urgently to where Jayne was still dominating the Operative in combat, but before he even reached halfway the ground in front of him burst with a weapons impact.

"Jayne!" he cried. "Sniper!" The mercenary looked up from his opponent, but the distraction only worked in the Operative's favour. He snapped his leg forward, sweeping Jayne's feet from beneath him. He fell hard to the ground, the Operative sweeping him into a rough embrace, pinning him to the ground, and driving his forehead into Jayne's nose.

The ground burst again in front of Mal, and he retreated to the cover of the nearby village huts. Abandoning all thoughts of Jayne, he made for the row of cabins they had slept in the previous night.

He ran along the partially exposed wooden walkway to the third cabin along, unlatched the locks and swung the door open, his breath coming quick and shallow in his chest. His knee burned, but he ignored the pain, urging his beaten body to greater efforts so they could finally escape this wretched place.

Kaylee lay still on the lower bunk, and Mal had taken several steps towards her before he realised what was wrong.

The creature clutched to her face was gone.

He quickly looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of where it might be lurking, but the urgency of the moment overrode any instinct for self-preservation. He stooped over the engineer's body and lifted her onto his shoulder, feeling her breath rise and fall against his back. He took an unsteady step towards the door, testing the extra weight on his leg, and found that his trembling limb would barely support the two of them.

Regardless, he started out of the small cabin and back the way he came, aware of how exposed he was to wherever the sniper lay hidden on the outskirts of the village.

In the village square, Jayne was not faring well against his assailant. The Operative clambered to his feet and kicked out at Jayne's face, connecting solidly with his heavy boot. Jayne was flung into the air and onto his back, stunned momentarily.

The Operative closed on him, raising his foot to stamp on Jayne's head, but a shot caught him in the chest, ricocheting off his body armour. Inara raised the rifle she was aiming at the man, moving to fire again, and the Operative took the initiative and fled from the square. Inara rushed from the transport, back out onto the muddy mire of the ground, thunder and lightning cracking overhead, and hauled Jayne to his feet.

Mal emerged from the village with Kaylee over his shoulder, and stepping from the walkway onto the unsteady ground of the square was too much for his crippled knee. He cried out in pain as his leg gave in beneath the combined weight of two people, and Kaylee toppled from his shoulder and onto the ground, sinking into the mud.

Inara pushed Jayne towards the transport, abandoning the mercenary to aid the captain and the unconscious engineer. Mal was trying to struggle to his feet, pulling Kaylee with him, but then Inara was there, dragging the captain up by his arms and handing him the rifle. She stooped to pick up the engineer and, struggling to lift her, managed to loop one of the girl's arms around her neck much as Andrews had just done. Mal coiled his free arm around the engineer's waist and lifted with what strength was left in his body, and together they hauled the girl through the swirling torrents of rain falling from the stained white sky.

They clambered up the rear ramp, Kaylee's feet dragging along the metal deck behind them. Water streamed from their bodies, forming into a large puddle beneath them that started to trickle back down onto the ground outside. Mal punched the control that would close the ramp and, unable to sustain the effort any longer, released Kaylee from his grip, emitting a sharp cry of pain as the exertion became too much. The engineer fell to the deck, and though Mal felt a sharp stab of guilt, there was no time to indulge the emotion.

He stumped from the aft section, unaware that he walked through the pool of blood that was quickly forming beneath Simon's unconscious form, and to the cockpit where he hoped Zoe was waiting for him.

The first mate sat in the co-pilot's chair, flicking switches and turning dials. The engines roared to life at the sides of the vessel, and with a great lurch the ship was free of the surface and they had began their escape from the moon.

Mal almost fell into the pilot's seat, grabbing hold of the control mechanism and wrenching it down. Built more for durability than manoeuvrability, the ship responded slowly to Mal's commands.

The vessel rocked again as the main engines ignited, boosting the renegades further into the sky. Mal was conscious of the enormous cloud of radioactive debris further to the south, and pulled starboard on the controls so that they gave the area a wide berth.

Suddenly an alarm blared on the console and Zoe was shouting about a weapons contact. Before she had even finished the sentence, an enormous force buffeted the transport, nearly sending Mal soaring from his seat.

The cruiser was firing on them from orbit.

Desperation and fear and rage all welled up inside Mal, and he felt a resolve burn in him like he had never felt before. He defied this fate – that they had come so far and suffered so much only to be cut down at the final hurdle was something he simply refused to allow. He directed the force of his will onto the cruiser, the Operative, and the vessel around them, and denied that the unfairness of the odds facing them would overcome them.

The emotion burst out of him in a cry that degenerated into a string of curses, in English and Chinese, and he focussed the sum of his rage on this shell surrounding them that dared call itself a ship, the halo of fire from the cruiser's weapons burning around the ship appearing to be fuelled by Mal's strength of feeling.

The rivets of the ship gave one loud crack, and for a moment it was as if the entire vessel would break in half, but then the cruise engines kicked in and with another great lurch, the transport burst from the shroud of weapons fire and out of the moon's atmosphere, propelling them further and further from that dreadful place and into the safety and nothingness of the Black.

Mal slumped in the pilot's seat, his emotion spent. Now he was just a shell, exhausted and battered and bruised, physically and mentally. Zoe rose wordlessly from the co-pilot's station and slipped out of the cockpit towards the rear of the vessel.

Mal allowed himself the moment. Tears welled in his eyes, but even expending his sorrow was too much effort. He felt as though he should be happy they had escaped, but the cost of survival had taken its toll on the captain.

One final thing occurred to him before he went aft to lead his crew. He once told River that love was the only thing that would keep a boat in the air, but even that sacred truth had been taken from him. Because Mal knew that it had been his hatred that had propelled the troop transport from the moon. And somehow that knowledge was worse than anything else that had happened to them.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"Scorched earth," said the female Operative to her junior officer. "Leave no trace of anything on the surface – destroy the village and any sign that a facility existed here. We're disavowing."

The officer nodded and withdrew from the female, leaving her alone in the conference room with her fellow Operative. He sat brooding, nursing the wound on his cheek with a salve. The female started to busy herself with paperwork, ignoring the male's presence, forcing him into speaking first.

Eventually, he did so.

"What next?"

Not looking up from her filing – which she could have ordered any other person on the ship to do for her – she waited several long moments before replying.

"That's classified."

Frowning, the male went to speak, but instead the female directed her gaze at the man, and he remained silent. Though he had never seen the woman angry, this was as close as he had ever seen her to the emotion, and wisely kept quiet. She continued.

"Your operation is a failure. At every step Reynolds has eluded you, and you have displayed incompetence at every turn. Being an Operative requires a subtle hand and mind, and you are simply not equipped with either of these things. You have failed your third Trial. You will never be an Operative."

His cheeks started to burn red, and he glowered indignantly at the female, but he still did not speak. She regarded him in silence for a few moments longer.

"I do not know what the Parliament will do with you, but you may want to consider suicide. Falling on your blade is traditionally the best apology to make to them, and they may be satisfied with such a gesture. However I dare not speak for them; those are just my experiences."

Slowly, the male nodded. She gathered up her files, regarded him once more, and then left without another word.

Alone, he dabbed at his cheek with the salve, pondering on the futility of the Alliance patching up his wounds when they planned to have him disappear, when the beginnings of a plan began to form in his mind.

He stood from the conference chair and stepped out into the corridor. Either the news of his demise travelled slowly, or he still commanded fear and respect from the crew because everyone he encountered was quick to step out of his way. He ignored these lesser crewmembers, however, wandering the corridors of the cruiser aimlessly for a length of time he couldn't measure, lost in his thoughts.

Eventually he looked up from his reverie and found himself in the docking bay. The two shuttles from the Serenity were still here, locked under a biological hazard quarantine. He had almost forgotten how it had all began – with one errant cargo container. He had lost track of that somewhere; that his assignment was to find the supplier of the container, but it had devolved into a violent chase for Malcolm Reynolds and his crew.

Ironically he found that he did not feel angry. The rage that had fuelled him until now, burning through him and filling him with blood thirst, had been replaced by indifference that he knew he shouldn't be feeling. Maybe that was how he arrived at his next course of action – the ability to disassociate himself from his reality.

He slowly began to realise that there was a flaw in his programming. The brainwashing and hypnosis that a Trainee underwent during the first stage of their training seemed to have had a slightly different effect on him than others of his particular profession.

An Operative was the Alliance, and the Alliance worked through the Operative. They were a single and cohesive entity. That is why an Operative foregoes his or her identity, so they can fully become the instrument of the Alliance.

But for _this_ Operative, the line was blurred somewhat. He believed more in creating the ideal world. By performing evil, he could make life better for the citizens of the Alliance. But the Alliance ordered him to do evil, so how could they be part of that ideal world? This thought flowed through his mind until he came to the simple, blindingly obvious truth.

It was so clear he was astonished he hadn't thought of it earlier.

The Alliance had to be destroyed.

He was concerned momentarily that this was a simple desire for revenge based on the fact he had been utterly and completely rejected by them, but upon further analysis he found that this wasn't the case. His current state of mind didn't allow for that kind of emotional attachment.

He smiled then, the first emotion to play across his features for all the time he had been wandering, bringing him back to the present. He started to walk forward, remembering something else in the distant reaches of his memory.

He paced towards the soldiers guarding the entrance to the first of Serenity's shuttles, and they didn't even attempt to stop him as he ducked underneath the luminous yellow tape tacked across the hatch.

Nothing inside the shuttle had been moved, except for the crewmembers within, since it had landed on the deck. Thus, the Operative stooped and picked up the rifle he had seen perched on the couch of the shuttle. It must have belonged to the mercenary, Cobb, because the first mate favoured a shotgun and he doubted the doctor or the engineer would own such a weapon – a Callahan full-bore autolock, with a customized trigger and double cartridge thorough-gauge. He was surprised that one of the crew hadn't sequestered it already, but perhaps some things weren't worth the risk of entering a clearly labelled quarantine area for.

He hoisted the weapon, feeling the weight. He cocked it experimentally, and nodded approvingly. This was perhaps the finest weapon he had ever held, save for his own blade, sheathed along his spine. It would be a fine instrument, aiding him in carrying out his crusade against his oppressive former master.

Something the female had said to him flashed back into his mind suddenly. _Being an Operative requires a subtle hand and mind, and you are simply not equipped with either of these things._ He smiled again, a strangely gentle emotion considering his circumstances. He would show _her_ a subtle mind.

Because one thing had failed to register properly on Mal Reynolds' mind when he and the doctor had hijacked their troop transport. There were supposed to be four ships outside that facility, and instead there were five.

He had taken the fifth from the cruiser and hiked through the forest, following the trace signature of the isotope in Simon Tam's body to the village they were hiding in. And there was something on that transport he had taken with him – the Package he had ordered prepared for deployment on the surface of the moon.

He produced a small device from his armour, little more than a button placed above a transmitter. He regarded it emotionlessly, playing with the edge of the button with his thumb. Now it was little more than probability. There was a one in five chance that Reynolds had taken the transport the Package had been loaded onto. And if that were the case, well, the game would certainly become a lot more…_interesting_.

He depressed the button. The transmitter beamed a concentrated string of data out from the cruiser, and it connected remotely with an innocuous cargo container stowed in the rear of one of the five troop transports. The circuitry within started an automated procedure, firing up programming and mechanical processes that culminated in a single outcome.

Inside, something organic began to stir from its cold slumber.

_A/N_

_Thanks to Lecter, MAndrews and mbali for your reviews._


	12. Intermission

**Intermission**

Kaylee's mouth hung open, incredulous as the complicated tale Mal and Simon were weaving for her unfolded. She had clutched Simon's hand when he had told her of how he had taken the life of the Operative Trainee, fierce pride filling her chest upon hearing the account of his bravery, and her eyes had swam with sorrow as Mal had related his broken emotional state upon escaping the moon. But she was aching with questions.

"So that man Operative, he was off your case by then?" she asked. Mal shook his head.

"No. He didn't leave us alone after that. In fact he came at us even worse than before. Think he must've had a chip on his shoulder 'bout the whole thing."

"Well, whatever happened I hope you got the gao yang jong duh goo yang. And don't tell me that it was another crate of those hand-things on the transport," she said, her eyes filling with horror at the thought of the organisms. Simon shot her a funny look.

"How did you know that the Package was on board our transport? It was a one in five chance," he asked. She gave him a reproachful look.

"_Course_ it was onboard your transport. Sod's Law, ain't it? If somethin' bad is gonna happen, then it will. Usually at the worst time."

"Well, yeah, it was on board our ship," said Mal, his eyes twinkling mildly upon her manner of speech. Though they were discussing the direst possible situation, Kaylee could somehow make it seem like they were discussing dinner plans. "But it wasn't those hand-things."

"What was it then?" she asked, her curiosity burning. But Mal shook his head, actually breaking into a smile.

"Nuh-uh, little lady. No skippin' ahead in this story. You take it as it's given to ya."

She huffed indignantly, but the jovial moment was broken when she suddenly doubled over in pain, clutching at her chest. Simon and Mal were up immediately, the former with a portable medical scanner in his hand. He consulted it quickly, and then seemed to relax. Mal was staring at him intently.

"It's okay," said Simon. "Just growing pains. We have time yet."

"I think it just kicked," said Kaylee, but the comment, meant to lighten the moment, merely served to highlight the grotesque nature of the alien being maturing within her. Mal grimaced, and Simon wordlessly put away the scanner. They stood in awkward silence for a few moments longer before Kaylee moved to rectify her social faux pas.

"So, uh…" she said, the question she had most desired to know the answer to but been afraid to ask now hovering on her lips. Afraid because of the consequences of the answer, knowing that if it was 'yes' the crew she had been a part of would doubtlessly have been torn apart. "Is, uh…is Wash still alive?"

Mal and Simon exchanged another of those glances, and she was partially relieved that the answer wasn't as simple as 'yes' or 'no'. Because it meant that Zoe might have somehow survived through the time left of the two men's tale with her sanity intact.

"It's complicated," said Simon, using that infuriating adjective that could be used to potentially dismiss so much about a question. But by this time Kaylee could appreciate the depth of the trauma those she loved had been through, and was beginning to sense that although their physical ordeal had just ended, they were about to enter a world of psychological hurt.

She nodded and didn't press for a further answer, but Mal was clearly being tortured by something. He took a seat at the edge of the engineer's bed and took her hand in his.

"Listen," he said. He went to carry on speaking, but thought better of it. He carefully prepared his words in his head before he continued, and after several moments of silence he did so. "I wish it was as simple as sayin' 'yes' and 'no' to your questions. But if we just out and out told you now, you wouldn't understand properly why someone did somethin', or didn't do somethin'. I wanna give you the chance to hear everyone's side of the story first, so we don't give you the wrong idea. We all went through a lot, and to just sum it up in one word wouldn't give things justice."

The girl nodded. "I understand, Cap'n. Really, I do. You just tell the story at your own pace."

Mal nodded, relieved that he had made his point and that Kaylee could understand him. The engineer patted his hand reassuringly, and tried to move the conversation forward.

"So what happened next?"

Mal stood up and started to pace towards the viewport, and Kaylee noticed that he was favouring his left leg slightly as he walked. Simon spoke next.

"Well, I was lying on the deck of the ship with a gaping hole in my side, blood flowing freely," he said. "I'd suffered a bullet wound to my side, and lucky that there was an infirmary on board the ship or I might not have made it."

"But you're the doctor," said Kaylee. "Who fixed you up?"

Simon almost smiled, the memory obviously holding some kind of amusement for him. "Mal and Inara did. We all worked together then, but…after that, it was the start of a new leg of our journey. On the moon we had all been tested and pushed physically. But with the male Operative gone, that kind of push was gone. We had to contend with the female then, and she attacked our minds instead of our bodies. No matter what the male had done to us, the female was infinitely more dangerous."

"What did she do?" asked Kaylee, a ripple of apprehension travelling up and down her spine. But Simon's response was by now predictable.

"We'll get to that in a minute. Because before that happened, something else did we have to tell you about before anything else makes sense."

Mal sighed, as if the memory itself weighed down his spirits even from the past. He turned to regard Kaylee with woeful eyes.

"We had to name the Hunter," he said. It took Kaylee a few moments to realise that his grief was enforced, and he had to dodge the pillow the girl threw at him immediately afterwards.

_A/N_

_So, the first leg of the story is over. I'm going to be taking a little break while I build up a buffer to start the next phase, and also because writing Nightmare can get a little intense. Normal service will resume shortly._

_Lecter and MAndrews: God bless you, because for a while there I had no reviews at all and it was making me sad :( But then you reviewed and then I was happy :)  
_


	13. Day Three: The Black

_A/N:_

_And so normal service has been resumed! Sorry about the delay, it's just that the next part of the story is a bit complicated and I didn't want to upload anything I hadn't checked a few times. It's getting to the stage where stuff that happened in Void is starting to become relevant (talk about long term plot devices…), so anything that I feel you might need a prompter on will be at the start with the chapter number and a small passage to jog your memory. I realise that it's unrealistic for everyone to keep close track of the entire story, hence the 'previously' section._

_Well, here we go again._

**Previously**

_**Void: Chapter Five **_

Unseen to the crew of the Serenity, the man sat behind a cortex terminal in the next room and pressed a few buttons frantically.

After it rang for a very long time, a burst of static finally answered.

"_Are you deficient?"_ The voice was scrambled, and sounded robotic.

"What…?"

"_This had better be damned important. I told you to never raise me on this line."_

**Day Three**

**The Black**

Mal awoke with a start. His eyes rolled in their sockets as he assessed his surroundings, trying to dredge up the knowledge from his mind about where he was and what he had been doing.

An Alliance troop transport. They had stolen it from the Trainee compound back on the moon Serenity had crashed on. He was in one of the officer's bunks, a tiny room at best, but better equipped than what the grunts got. He blinked, letting the alarm fade from his body, and rolled to the side of the bed.

He ran his hands across his face, trying to account for the last twenty-four hours. The most pressing thing they had encountered upon escaping the moon's gravity was Simon's prone, bleeding form. They had rushed him to the infirmary, and by consulting the medical records of the ship managed to stabilise his condition. He was lying unconscious on one of the infirmary beds, next to his comatose sister, and all they could do was wait until he woke up so he could tell them what to do. Though they had stopped the bleeding, Mal had no doubt that there was more to it than that, and that the doctor's life was still in some considerable danger. After that, they had patched up the wound on Mal's arm – the one he had accepted the help of the Hunters with – and wrapped his knee in a support. They had taken a look at the scars on Inara's face but there was nothing they could really do for her – they needed Simon back in his capacity of fixer-upper.

He couldn't remember what they had done without the Tams. Though River's uses came a bit further and far between than her brother's, she had saved them from some pretty tight spots since they had taken in the refugee siblings. Arguably, the Tams had created the tight spots for them, but nevertheless she had rescued them from the situations. And Simon had quickly become indispensable, patching up minor (and major) hurts when their work had dictated violence. Though he would never admit that to Simon.

He stood from the bed and paced to the small window that allowed him a view of the stars surrounding them. The moon was pretty far out from the Core, but Mal had taken them even further into the Black to evade detection by the Alliance. This was the furthest out he had ever been, and he was placing a lot of faith in the fact that the ship they currently inhabited hadn't sustained any major damage during their escape, because this far out they would surely perish if something bad happened to the equipment. But the constant worry was worth the thought that the chances of the Alliance tracking them down out here were close to nil.

Stepping up to the washbasin, Mal started to run water from the single tap that protruded over the sink. He filled the basin with water, and proceeded to wash his face and neck in the cool liquid. The grime that had built up on his body was still there, but he would utilise the showers later. For now, he just wanted to wake up properly. He must have been asleep for ten hours or so, but the trauma inflicted on his body would require much more rest than that to fully heal. His knee still burned when he walked, but luckily he wasn't expecting to have to exercise it that much over the next day or so. After that was anyone's guess.

When he had finished with the washbasin, he drained the water from the sink and pulled on his shirt. There were other clothes on the transport, but most of what they had unearthed was some kind of Alliance uniform, and Mal would be damned before he wore one of those. So he was stuck with his sweaty, dirty shirt he had escaped from Serenity in.

He was again disorientated when he stepped out of the bunk, because the transport was larger than Serenity was. His room was a longer walk than the five paces to the cockpit he was used to back on the Firefly. Sorrow surged within him again, but he quelled it. Though this was at least some sort of reprieve, he would grieve later. There was still too much to do.

The Alliance ship was built to carry approximately fifty troops, and it was no simple dropship. While it fulfilled that role in the navy, the ship was also used to ferry troops between bases, the trips sometimes taking a week or more at a time. The vessel was equipped as such, and so the fugitives had some measure of comfort while they stayed on board. There was a small gym, and of course the infirmary. The mess hall was larger than that on Serenity, designed to seat thirty people while the rest of the crew worked on rotating shifts. Though they were only ration packs, they had enough food to eat for a number of weeks at least.

It was almost a shame, considered Mal as he limped through the dark, empty corridors of the vessel. If they had something more material to worry about, like a food shortage, it would at least distract their attention from the much more pressing question that was undoubtedly dominating everyone's thoughts – what next?

Mal had no idea, but for now hiding out in the Black was as good as he could come up with, and the others seemed to be content to hide after the last few days. They would lick their wounds, patch up their hurt and move on from there. For now, now was the only thing Mal tried to concern himself with.

He stomped into the mess hall – not through temper, but because of his injured knee – and moved towards the rear of the room. Inara sat at one of the tables disconsolately, picking at her plate. She didn't even look up as he entered.

Once he had assembled a platter of food from the kitchen at the rear, he moved back out into the mess hall proper and took a seat opposite Inara, who hadn't noticed he was even in the room.

"Good mornin'," he said as a greeting, and she looked up, confused.

"Is it?" she asked. Mal sighed, deflating visibly.

"Please don't. I've already had this particular conversation with Simon, and I don't really wanna go down that road right now."

Inara shook her head. "What? No, I mean, what time is it? Is it morning already?"

"Oh. Sorry. Yeah. We're just about to cross over from the small hours to the medium hours."

He started to shovel food into his mouth, his stomach growling in thanks as he refuelled his body. Inara watched him with part distaste and part amusement.

"I wish I had your appetite," she said. "I've been sat here for who knows how long, and I can only manage to eat a couple of mouthfuls."

Mal gave her his best sympathetic glance. "I'm sure it'll come back to you," he said unhelpfully. Inara nodded to herself, as though she expected nothing more from the man, but said nothing.

"Where are the others?" asked Mal, feeling the need to replace the silence with something more meaningful.

"Simon, River, Kaylee and Daniel are all in the infirmary, resting up for their various reasons." Mal's face had screwed up with confusion.

"Daniel?" he asked around a mouthful of food. Inara tried not to look disgusted and explained.

"Andrews." She continued after Mal nodded his understanding. "I think Jayne is in the gym, and the last I saw Zoe she was in the cockpit. Not that I imagine there's much to do up there."

"She's probably stargazin'," said Mal. "She does that when she's got a lot to think about. And there are plenty of stars to stare at up there."

"Nothing much else to look at, though," said Inara. She caught Mal's glance and hurried to explain. "Not that I'm not grateful for the hiding place. It just serves as a reminder that we all have nothing left. And I don't particularly enjoy that thought."

"We've got each other," said Mal quietly, and perhaps a little defensively. "That's gotta count for something."

Inara smiled at him, the first time he had seen her do so for what seemed like a long time. "It does. But…you know."

"I do." He regarded the Companion closely, noting that the scars on her face were already starting to fade. Either he was getting used to them, or they were never as bad as they first appeared. But either way, he sensed that he shouldn't bring it up with Inara. She seemed a little delicate at the moment. Instead, he steered the conversation in another direction.

"What about the Hunter?" he asked. Inara's expression upon Mal speaking the word was priceless.

The massive hulking alien presence had been discovered almost immediately after they had escaped, prompting a mass panic. Jayne had almost shot the thing, except it beat him to the chase – it rapidly disarmed him and pinned him against the wall, and it might have killed him if Mal hadn't shouted for it to stop. Amazingly, it had released him after glaring at him for a few moments, and then it had sloped off into the depths of the ship. Mal hadn't seen or heard anything from it since.

"I have no idea. Maybe building a nest somewhere. That's probably why Jayne is in the gym. He probably thinks that an emergency work out session will give him enough strength to take it on and beat it next time."

Mal snorted. "Not likely. Remember what that hunter said in the tavern back in the village? Well, you just met one of the creatures he was talking about. 'Strength of ten men' wasn't much of an exaggeration."

"What _are_ they?" asked Inara, her curiosity truly aroused. Mal shrugged, genuinely at a loss.

"I have no idea. All I know is that the Alliance set their Operative Trainees loose in a forest with those things, and they gotta fight to the death in order to pass their trial."

"It seemed…" Inara paused, wondering whether to voice the thought. "_Intelligent._"

"Oh, they are," said Mal. "Not sure how much, but they've got rituals, and advanced technology, so I'm guessin' nearly as much as we are."

Inara's face had lit up, but almost immediately afterwards had sunk down to its regular expression. On Mal's perplexed look, she explained.

"I was going to make some grand exclamation of how much of an important find this is for humanity, but the Alliance clearly already knows all about them, so I guess it isn't." She paused, considering. "It _is_ staggering, though. There's intelligent life other than humans out there."

"I know," nodded Mal. "Makes you feel real small, don't it? 'Specially out here," he said, indicating the endless black expanse out of the viewport. Humbled, the pair returned to their food momentarily.

"I never thought I'd actually say this in a conversation, but…speaking of alien organisms…" said Inara, but carefully as to not arouse any negative emotion in Mal. The man grimaced, knowing what she was talking about immediately.

"I don't know," he said in response to her unanswered question. "I think keepin' her sedated, like you said, is the best thing we can do right now. Might slow down the thing that's inside her. Ideally we'd find Kaylee a cold storage tube and put her in that, but the chances of that are…"

"Remote," said Inara quietly. They stared at their plates for a time longer before the woman voiced the thought they were both thinking. "…What if she wakes up?"

Mal didn't have to answer the question because the small device he was carrying around bleating sharply. He almost jumped because of the sudden noise, but composed himself quickly, realising what the noise signified. For once, it was good news.

"Simon's awake," he said, rising from the table.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Zoe stared out at the stars from inside the cockpit, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. To anyone looking in from the outside, she was a slightly morose picture of melancholy, but if they could take a walk around inside her head, they would soon discover that was a vast understatement.

One thing was occupying her thoughts, and that was what the female Operative had said to her back on that moon.

_It's about your husband._

_He's still alive._

_And Malcolm Reynolds knows about it._

Three simple phrases that, taken literally, were only a collection of words. Abstract sounds arranged and given meaning to by human minds, and that meaning was enough to tear someone's sanity to shreds.

For hours she had sat alone in the cockpit, or wandering the corridors of the ship, or pummelling the punch bag in the gym, and she hadn't been able to make sense of anything.

_The Operative was lying._

That had to be in the forefront of her thoughts. If nothing else was true, then she could cling fast to the notion that nothing the Operative said could be trusted, and she could believe that with one hundred percent certainty. But…why, then, had she allowed the Operative to go free? She could have easily ended the Alliance agent's life in that hut on that moon, and she didn't.

_The problem was hope._

Another fact. Zoe missed her husband so much that her entire life had lost its meaning when he had left her. When he had been murdered. Savaged. She missed him so much that given even the slightest, remotest possibility of having him back, she would – and had – dealt with the Devil to explore that chance.

_It was possible._

She had been piecing together the moments of her husband's death since the moment the Operative had suggested he might still be alive to her, probing and assessing and evaluating the odds. And she found that, however unlikely, it was within the realm of possibility that he had somehow lived through the Reaver attack. She and Mal had been driven from the cockpit before they could properly assess if he was alive. By the time they returned to the crashed ship, the vessel was swarming with Alliance personnel getting the Firefly ready for salvage. And Wash's body had already been taken from the cockpit and stowed up in a body bag, ready for her to identify the remains. However, though she had told the Alliance coroner that she had recognised the corpse…the truth was, the body was so badly mutilated that she couldn't be completely certain. Only that shreds of one of Wash's trademark shirts clung to the ravaged flesh had she associated the remains with her husband. She had assumed that the Reavers had desecrated his body after they left, but now that was all being thrown into doubt.

_It was impossible._

She had seen the harpoon sink into his chest, and heard his last, ragged breath escape his body. That harpoon had pierced the front screen of the vessel – hardened, fortified transparent steel. That harpoon was also designed as a ship-to-ship weapon. It would have been launched with enormous force at his body – something no one could survive. Her battlefield instincts told her that Wash was dead, and if she trusted one thing, she trusted her instincts.

And if the Captain knew about it…well, he'd better have a damned good reason for keeping it from her, or she'd take it out of his skin.

She shook her head slightly. No. That was ridiculous. The Captain would not be able to keep something like this from her, even if it was true. She would be able to tell – she could always sense when he was keeping a secret from her, and he had always confessed when she confronted him about it. There was no way that Mal Reynolds knew anything about a conspiracy to keep her maybe dead husband from her. No way whatsoever.

…Or was there?

So there she sat, caught between the truth and lies, and hope and fear. There was enough doubt within her to match the equally strong assurance that she was being fed a line. She felt completely helpless within the grasp of this Operative, and wondered what lengths she would try to make Zoe go to to unearth the truth.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"Doctor," greeted Mal as he entered the infirmary, closely followed by Inara. Simon smiled weakly from his bed, the call button still clutched in his hand from when he had signalled the device Mal was carrying around.

"How are you feeling?" asked Inara, rounding the far side of his bed. Simon gave her his best deprecating look under the circumstances.

"Like I've been shot," said Simon. He spoke weakly, slurring some of his words. "You?"

"I've been better," admitted Inara. "But I think you have me beat."

"Listen, Doc," said Mal, cutting to the chase. "We stopped the bleeding, but I'll be honest, I think there's still something messed up inside of you, and I got no idea how to patch it up."

Simon nodded slowly, the effects of the drugs still fogging his mind. He was glad to be suffering minimal pain, but he needed his faculties about him.

"Alright," started the doctor. "You're going to have to operate on me while I'm conscious."

"Won't that hurt?" asked Inara, but Simon just smiled.

"Probably like hell, even with painkillers. But it's either that or dying, so…"

"I think someone has had a little too much alprazaline, or maybe you wouldn't be findin' this whole situation that funny," said Mal, teasing. Inara fixed him a stare.

"Yes, I would be quite terrified facing the prospect of Mal cutting into me with a scalpel."

Before Mal could reply, Simon took her comment literally; unaware she was making fun of Mal. "Actually, I'd like you to perform the operation, Inara."

The Companion's eyes boggled. "Me? Why me?"

"Because you have the most medical training out of everyone else on the ship, and I trust that at the moment more than familiarity with blood." He turned to look back at Mal. "No offence."

"None taken," assured Mal. "So what do we need and when can we start?"

"Start as soon as possible. The longer we wait the more chance there is of me suffering permanent internal damage. We'll need a camera set up to a monitor next to my bed so I can see what Inara is doing, but everything else should be here already. I'll call things out for you to find in the stores."

Mal nodded, glancing at Inara. The woman looked a little shaken, but she was giving Simon her best reassuring look.

While Simon called out a long list of chemicals and apparatus, Inara and Mal went about the infirmary and collected the items, assembling them on a trolley they positioned next to Simon's bed. There were ten beds in the medical centre of the ship, and four of the beds were occupied. It suddenly occurred to Mal that there were an equal number of humans laid up in the infirmary alongside the healthy ones roaming the ship.

He could barely bring himself to look at Kaylee. Though that creature had dropped off her face, he found it was even worse to look at her calm features with the knowledge that there was something dreadful growing inside of her, waiting to burst its way through her ribcage upon maturation. Opposite the engineer lay River, knocked into some kind of coma by the Operative, according to Zoe's information. They'd have to wait until Simon got mobile to take a look at her.

Andrews he didn't know or especially care about, but the young man had been banged up pretty badly when he'd been tortured by the Operative, and Mal supposed he had to give him _some_ credit; he'd all but countermanded his superiors' orders to try and help them uncover the mystery of the cargo container they had been hauling, and taking that course of action had lost him his ship, crew and health. Still, he would be keeping a close eye on Andrews. He was the only one on the ship, as far as Mal was concerned, who could be a problem if either of the Operatives tried to subvert him against the rest of the fugitives. Well, maybe Jayne. But mostly Andrews.

"That everything?" he asked Simon, and the doctor nodded, still mellow from the drugs.

"If you got everything I asked you to…then yes…" he said. Mal and Inara gathered by his bed, next to the trolley full of apparatus.

"So, how do we start?" asked Inara.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

The female Operative, on board the cruiser housing one half of Project Nightmare, sat at her personal cortex and activated the controls to the device. It flickered to life, connecting with another remote terminal. Within moments, the wave had been answered and static burst across the screen. This was no malfunction, but rather a necessary measure for contacting such an individual as she was right now.

A distorted voice rattled from the speakers of the terminal, allowing no possible means of identification. It was so advanced it even removed the intonations certain regional accents had developed.

"_Why have you contacted me?"_ asked the robotic voice brusquely. The Operative took no offence at the voice's mode of address, and got straight to the point.

"I have a target for your operation, but I need to remain involved."

"_Continue."_

"Malcolm Reynolds. The man simply won't die. Trying to kill him hasn't worked for us up until now, and as such, I thought we could utilise him in another capacity."

"_What is the purpose of your continued involvement?"_

"We have another situation here. An Operative undertaking his third Trial has gone Rogue. One of the drawbacks of training agents with no identity is that they can disappear without any trace."

"_I am familiar with the flaws of the Alliance. Get to the point."_

"I have reason to believe that the Rogue will attempt to continue his crusade against Reynolds. I'll need to use the fugitive to smoke out our renegade."

The voice didn't respond, and although the Operative wasn't easily riled, for some reason the hissing interference made her nervous. Perhaps she was in the habit of knowing everything about a target before she pursued it, and about this entity she knew nothing, other than how to contact it and vague rumours about the nature of its assignment. She felt the very human urge to continue talking to plug the gap in their exchange.

"I understand that this is highly irregular, but it would serve both of our best interests if – "

The voice interrupted her. _"That arrangement will be acceptable. I will contact you in short order with details."_

With that, the monitor blinked and died, signifying the end of their exchange. The Operative blinked and sat back, taken slightly by surprise.

"That's alright," she said to herself after several moments of silence. "I have another call to make."

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

A panel in the cockpit started to flash. Zoe didn't notice it at first as she was looking out of the other side of the viewport, but eventually she noticed the blinking light in the reflection cast in the transparent steel. Puzzled, she tapped the control mounted next to it and her innards ran cold. It was the communications system of the transport.

She depressed the button with a trembling finger that would accept the transmission, and a small screen mounted in front of her sprang to life.

Shrouded in darkness and with that smug grin on her face was the female Operative.

"Hello Zoe," she said.

Zoe glowered at the camera that would be transmitting her image back to wherever the Operative was sitting at that moment. "How did you find us?"

The Operative _tsked_ reproachfully. "Zoe. You should know better. I've known exactly where you are since you escaped."

Blood started to pound in Zoe's temples, but there was nothing for her to hit, kick or bite – just the image of this hateful woman. She had rehearsed this conversation a thousand times in her head, and now it was here, she found that all of her carefully prepared words were for nothing.

The Operative sensed her weakness and continued, her eyes twinkling. "Did you think hijacking an Alliance vessel was the best of ideas? There are tracking devices built into that ship you will never find. We are quite serious about people taking our property, Zoe."

"So why aren't there explosions hitting the ship right now?" demanded Zoe. But the Operative just laughed – a merry, joyful sound that had no right to come out of such an evil entity's mouth.

"Oh, Zoe. I don't want to kill you. Not anymore. You and I have too much to do."

"Well then get to the gorram point."

Some of the amiability faded from the Operative's expression. This was business, now.

"Alright. I take it you followed my previous instructions?"

Reluctantly, Zoe nodded. "They don't know I spoke to you. Yet."

"Good. The next part of your assignment is easy. All you have to do is tell me where about on the ship Simon Tam is."

Instantly alarm bells went off inside Zoe's head, screaming at her to just terminate the wave, run to Mal and tell him everything that had happened. Her body followed the instinctual reaction, and her hand had crossed half the distance towards the control that would end the transmission before the Operative stopped her.

"If you do that for me…I'll prove that your husband is still alive."

Zoe's hand froze. She had deliberately avoided mentioning that particular topic of conversation, because if it wasn't brought up then it might not be real. It might be some elaborate hallucination on her part, and she wouldn't be facing this terrible predicament between loyalty and her meaning for living.

As before, her hand dropped slowly to her side, and Zoe slumped in defeat, knowing that she would do whatever the Operative was about to command her. The woman watching her through the camera smiled and nodded gently, as if rewarding an errant child who had just succumbed to authority and started to behave properly.

"Very good, Zoe. After all, we must consider this an exchange, must we not? You have to earn your husband's freedom. For now, though, we will exchange one piece of information for another. Isn't that fair?"

"Don't patronise me," growled Zoe. "Don't pretend like this is something that it's not."

"Very well then. You know what you have to do."

Zoe paused, hesitating. Maybe this wouldn't be so damaging. This would prove one way or the other if the Operative was lying. And what harm could a location do? Potentially, a lot. If the Operative knew where the ship was, she might have access to internal systems that included offensive measures. But…if she had access to those, then she would have access to internal sensors, and with those she could figure out where Simon was. So what was the benefit in knowing where the man was? Maybe this was just a test, to see if she would co-operate.

"I don't have all day, Zoe," said the Operative harshly, cutting through her thoughts. "I will terminate this wave if you take any longer to decide. Either we have an arrangement, or we don't. Don't belabour the point."

"Alright," said Zoe falteringly. "He's…He's in the infirmary."

The Operative's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"That wasn't part of the deal," admonished Zoe quickly, relishing the victory against her opponent. The Operative's eyes narrowed as she conceded the point.

"What bed in the infirmary?"

"Last I saw…second on the right."

The Operative nodded, looking away from her cortex at something Zoe couldn't see. The woman panicked, eager to receive what was due to her.

"What about…" started Zoe, but the other woman pre-empted her.

"Don't panic, Zoe," she rebuked. "Here is your proof."

The display flickered abruptly and showed Zoe a glimpse into her worst nightmare.

A grimy room filled the screen; chains hung from the ceiling, and metal trolleys filled with horrific instruments of torture lined the walls. A solitary prisoner dangled down, shackled from the chains, his feet barely brushing the floor. There could be no doubt left in Zoe's mind. The chained man was Wash.

Two other men wielding instruments in their hands circled Zoe's husband. One of them lashed out suddenly, bashing Wash across the face with something heavy and metallic. He cried out in pain and Zoe's fists clenched automatically, urging her body to somehow leap across the gap between them through the recording to defend her husband.

The other man grabbed Wash's head roughly and brought his mouth right to Wash's ear. _"Say it!"_ he screamed, so loud that even Zoe jumped on the other side of the transmission. _"Say it!"_

Wash spluttered once, a sob escaping his lips, and in a broken voice he called out, "Honey…Honey, help me. Please help me."

The man released Wash's head and it slumped to his chest, where he started to sob without hope, the sound tearing at Zoe's sanity.

Just as abruptly as it began, the recording ended and the Operative's face reappeared on the cortex. "I'll be back in touch with further instructions," she said emotionlessly. Then she terminated the connection.

Just as brokenly as her husband had on the video, Zoe began to weep.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"That's good," said Simon, his voice trembling. He lay on his side, staring at the monitor set up by the side of his bed intently.

Behind him, Mal stood by Inara's side, both of them dressed to operate. Inara held a steady but unconfident hand with a scalpel in it pressed tightly against the wound in Simon's back. Mal held a set of what looked like tweezers, pulling back a fold of skin from the injury.

"Next, start to cut down with the scalpel," said Simon. He had to remain lucid, and so although the pain was being deadened somewhat he still suffered. "Slowly, but remember to apply enough pressure to cut through the affected area."

Inara drew a shaky breath and it took her several seconds before she actually carried out Simon's instruction. She started to draw down with the scalpel, and Simon cried out in pain.

"I'm sorry!" exclaimed Inara, but Simon wasn't interested.

"It's okay. Keep cutting!" he grunted. The Companion continued to make the incision, all the way to the end of the wound. The slice she had created started to ooze with blood, and Mal moved quickly with swabs to soak it up. Inara's eyes were wide.

"It's bleeding a lot," she said to Simon, but he shook his head.

"It'll be fine. That'll reduce the swelling enough for you to apply the dilaftin compound with the syringe."

"The…dil…?" asked Mal.

"The vial of green fluid," instructed Inara. Mal reached for one of the items strewn out next to him on the trolley. Inara spared a glance away to assess his movements. "No, the other one."

Mal picked up the vial and fumbled with it, trying to load it into the syringe that would deliver the fluid into Simon's body. Inara gave a troubled look to Simon.

"Are you okay?" she asked, and the doctor could just grunt. As she spoke, one of the automated medical systems whirred to life at the side of the bed, making her jump.

"What's that?" asked Mal, his hands still struggling with the vial.

"Automated delivery system," informed Simon. "Probably detected an increase in my heart rate and is injecting me with something to regulate it."

"Is that safe?" asked Inara. "I mean, what if it gives you something that reacts with what we've…"

Simon interrupted her. "Don't worry. It's entirely automated. Everything that's been injected into my body is logged on a database somewhere on the ship. I've used one a thousand times." A slow warmth started to spread across his body, numbing it from the pain. "Huh…looks like it gave me some painkillers, too…"

Mal finally slammed the vial home and handed it to Inara, who shot him a withering glare at taking so long to assist her. Mal looked as innocent as possible as she placed the nozzle of the syringe at the edge of Simon's wound.

"Are you sure this will work?" she asked, hesitating. Simon shrugged as best he could in his current position, his eyes bleary with medication.

"I don't know…best as I can manage under the circumstances. In theory, yes."

The bullet had avoided his major organs and arteries, and so as far as Simon could figure out, simply plugging the wound would be enough to prevent further trauma. However, in his present condition, he could have easily overlooked something. He knew that, and Mal and Inara knew it, too. Trouble was, he was putting the responsibility on to the others. He cursed the machine that had done this to him – why did he have to get shot after everything else that had happened?

"Well…" muttered Inara. "No turning back now…"

She activated the syringe and it filled Simon's wound with the liquid dilaftin, which quickly hardened into a flexible gel. Simon groaned once as the strange rushing sensation of the fluid hit him, but the procedure was quickly over.

"Now," he gasped against the sensation, "Cover it up with a bandage so none of the fluid leaks out."

Mal followed the instruction swiftly, slapping a bandage across the wound and containing the salve within. He secured the bandage with medical tape as Inara backed away from the operating table.

Simon was smiling ever so slightly, his neck straining against the effort of holding his head above his pillow. "Good job," he said, exhausted by the exertion. "We'll make a physician out of you yet, Inara."

"I don't know about that," said Inara. "But I'm glad I was here to help."

"What else can we do for you, Doc?" asked Mal, finishing up securing the bandage.

"No offence…but you can leave," said Simon, his eyelids starting to droop. "I think it'd be best if I…rested…for a while…"

Mal looked over at Inara, his brow furrowing ever so slightly. "I thought you said we wanted to keep him conscious."

Inara shrugged, helpless against the observation. "We did. I injected just enough to numb the pain, just like Simon told me to."

The doctor's eyes were starting to roll against the effort of staying awake. "Maybe…the automated…"

Mal and Inara's eyes met as they both realised what Simon was talking about simultaneously. He rushed to the bank of monitors mounted near to the door as Inara took up a position near to the head of Simon's bed.

"Never trust a damned machine," muttered Mal as he called up the medical log for Simon's bed as their patient fell fully under the influence of whatever had been injected into him. Inara shook his hand, gently at first but increasing vigour as the seconds passed, calling his name. He didn't respond.

Finally Mal reached the last entry of the log, and crowed out the name of the drug that had been pumped into the doctor's body.

"Alprazaline!" he exclaimed, "Ten CCs!"

He hastened to the side of Simon's bed, eager to rectify the error on the machine's part somehow, when he realised what was wrong with what he'd said. Alprazaline. The same drug they'd given Simon to help deaden his pain, in the exact same quanitity.

He looked up slowly to meet Inara's gaze, and as their eyes locked, Simon told them that he was all right in his own way. The doctor stirred slightly in his drug induced unconsciousness and gave out a little snore.

Mal felt the tension float from his shoulders, and Inara felt a similar state of relief. They let the moment hang for a few more moments before either of them spoke.

"I think we both need to relax," said Mal. "Gettin' all excited 'bout a machine like that."

"Tell me about it," admitted Inara.

Together, they tidied away the medical equipment they didn't dispose of, and went to finish their meal.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Hours later, Simon's eyes snapped open, struggling against the drug-induced oblivion he had sunken into. It seemed as though just a moment had passed since they had finished up on the operation, and he had no way of knowing what time it was to gauge the gap between the two memories.

Unsteadily, he reached for the monitor mounted above his head on the swivelling arm. His hand found it after clutching at air several times, and he pulled down to check the chronometer.

He frowned at the display. It appeared he hadn't woken up by chance – the monitor was flashing an alert, and to accentuate it bleated again from the small speakers built into the base.

Ordinarily Simon might have called for someone in alarm, but having just woken up he responded automatically to the alert – namely, one signifying that he had an incoming communication. He pressed the button that would accept the wave.

The monitor sprang to life, and sitting in the middle of a shrouded darkness was the female Operative, who had shot him with a tracking pellet during their escape from the Alliance cruiser.

"Simon Tam," she said gently. "Listen very carefully to what I'm about to say."

As Simon paid rapt attention to the monitor, he had forgotten that he was not the sole occupier of the room. Across from him, with his back turned to conceal his awake state, Daniel Andrews paid just as much heed to both of their words.

_A/N:_

_Thanks to MAndrews, mbali, epm00012004, Lecter and Cosmic Castaway for your reviews. It was nice to get so many :)  
_


	14. Day Four: The Package

**Previously **

_**Void: Chapter 3**_

Mal scratched his eyebrow. "One thing I object to is doin' business with someone and not knowing their name…"

"Oh! I apologise." The woman offered her hand. "The name's Beka. I run the business here that doesn't involve nuts and bolts."

"Charmed," he said, shaking her hand. "Now what's this job?"

"Simple; travel to Beaumonde and make the delivery inside three days."

"What's the cargo?"

"Just one crate," and Mal narrowed his eyes.

"One crate?"

"Yes. One very valuable crate. Which you must not open under any circumstances."

…**-…-…-…**

"You like them?" asked Beka.

"Yeah," gushed Kaylee. "They're real pretty." She climbed onto the mule, and Beka picked one of the beaded necklaces from one of the crates they had just delivered.

"Here," she called, tossing the fashion accessory to the engineer, who plucked it out of the air eagerly. "A bonus."

**Day Four**

**The Package**

"Hello?" called Mal cautiously. He stood in the doorway to one of the cargo bays, his eyes scanning every possible nook and cranny within the chamber. After a pregnant pause, he motioned with his head to Jayne, who tried to casually stroll into the bay. His nervousness botched the motion, and instead he just looked like he had cramp.

Mal stalked in after Jayne, and the mercenary gave the captain a scathing look.

"Why are we the only ones doing this again?" he asked for the third time.

Mal didn't give him the satisfaction of being irritated. He calmly responded to the question, knowing that appearing to be unperturbed in their current situation would annoy Jayne about as much as Jayne wanted Mal to be annoyed by his incessant questioning.

"Because," he started, pausing in mid sentence to look behind a cargo crate. "When it tried to kill you, I shouted at it and it stopped, so it would look like it listens to me when I holler real loud."

The two men parted ways; Jayne covering the right side of the bay while Mal covered the left. They stalked through rows of crates filled with Lord knows what, searching for their quarry.

"What about me?" Jayne called across the cargo bay.

"Well, you're…you know. Expendable."

Jayne huffed. "I ain't gettin' paid enough to be expendable."

"That's kinda the point of bein' expendable, Jayne. 'Sides, ain't no one on this…ship…" His lip curled unconsciously at referring to this bucket as a 'ship'. "…Who's bein' paid. Just gotta suck it up and get on with it."

"What's say I don't wanna just 'get on with it'?" asked Jayne. "What if I have a better idea?"

"Like turnin' us all in? C'mon, Jayne, even you're smarter than that. The Alliance would never let you go knowin' what you do now."

"I don't mean that," said Jayne indignantly.

"So let's hear your bright idea."

"I go back to the mess hall, and Zoe replaces me," stated Jayne. Mal rolled his eyes.

"Jayne, sometimes you just gotta be a man, and…"

He trailed off as Jayne barked in alarm, running through the crates and vaulting over one that had been upturned during their escape. He winced as he landed on his bad knee, the injury sending a sharp burst of pain up his body, but luckily his leg didn't buckle under the strain of his body weight. He rounded a high stack to reveal Jayne pointing his pistol warily towards something Mal couldn't see. The captain drew his own weapon and joined the mercenary at the end of the row.

"Oh," he said as he saw what had taken Jayne by surprise.

A young, naked man sat cross-legged on the ground, staring vacantly past the two men at something in the middle distance. After several moments it became obvious that he hadn't even registered the existence of either of them, and Mal waved Jayne's weapon away. He lowered his pistol but did not join Mal in holstering it.

Mal reached forward and waved his hand across the boy's field of vision, but he didn't even blink. He was a scrawny specimen – a lithe, whip-thin frame sat below a shaggy mess of dirty blonde hair. Deep-set shadows had formed under his eyes, and his cheeks were gaunt. Mal judged his age to be no more than nineteen or twenty.

"You, uh…" he started, but something caught in his throat. He coughed and tried again. "You okay there, fella?"

The boy's eyes snapped to Mal's, and he nearly leaped back in surprise at the minute movement. There was something sorrowful about the kid's expression, as though he harboured a secret so devastating that it had shattered his mind and left but a shell behind.

"I'm the Package," he said quietly. "I'm waiting to be delivered."

But the boy's cryptic words became lost to Mal when he looked behind the stranger to what he sat in front of. He felt tears spring to his eyes as he realised what it meant for them all.

An open cryogenic container lay in the cargo bay. Kaylee was going to be okay.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"And he was just sitting there?" asked Inara, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. Mal nodded, hauling one half of the cryo crate's weight into the infirmary with Jayne. Zoe sat on one of the increasingly diminishing free beds, watching the boy they had found in the cargo bay intently. He was now dressed in Alliance coveralls, but his expression of vacant sorrow hadn't changed.

"Medically, there's nothing wrong with him," said Inara. "As for psychologically…I couldn't say."

"Well, somethin' ain't right in the kid's head," grunted Jayne as they set down the crate. "I mean, just look at him."

"What were you doing in the cargo bay?" asked Zoe. Jayne shot Mal an angry glance – _You didn't even mention it to her!_ – but Mal ignored him.

"We were lookin' for the Hunter. Jayne's gotten all skittish with it loose out there."

Jayne was nodding vigorously. "That's right. I ain't fallin' asleep 'til I know where that thing is."

"We've been on this ship for over a day," said Inara. "You haven't slept at all?"

"Not one wink," said Jayne with force. He slapped himself in the face as if to emphasise his weary state. "Not 'til I know where it is."

"So where was the cryo crate?" asked Zoe.

"We think he was in it, 'til he got out," said Mal. "He was less than clothed when we found him."

"And you're going to put Kaylee in there?" she asked. Mal nodded, frowning.

"Of course we are. Why would we not? Freezin' her is the only way I can think of to put off…well…you know," he finished lamely, referring to the grisly fate that awaited the engineer.

But Zoe was eyeing the container suspiciously. "I don't trust it," she said finally. Mal gave her a hard look.

"It don't matter. We don't got much of a choice here."

Zoe didn't challenge Mal, but returned her stony gaze to watching the strange young man.

"Did he say anything?' asked Inara. Mal nodded.

"Said he was the Package, and he was waitin' to be delivered." He snorted, trying to make light of the situation. "That's all he's said 'til this moment. Sounds exactly the kinda thing River would…"

He trailed off as everyone in the room arrived at the same conclusion simultaneously, putting the pieces together. A naked, mentally unstable youth who spoke in riddles. Zoe sat back from the boy, and Jayne's hand strayed to the butt of his holstered pistol.

"We should kill him," said Jayne quickly. "I ain't waitin' around for him to be 'delivered' if he's one of those things."

"'One of those things'?" echoed Inara. "You're talking about a mentally traumatised young man. If he comes from the same place River did, then he is an innocent victim of whatever experiment the Alliance is conducting there. He hasn't made any threatening move, has he?"

"Not yet," countered Jayne. "Remember when the girl went all unstoppable fightin' machine back in the Maidenhead? All it takes is a…a code word, or an Oaty Bar commercial and we're finished."

But Mal was ignoring their words and looking intently at the boy. He hadn't even flinched as the hostility towards him spread about the room. In fact, if he was even aware that he was in the company of other people, it didn't show. He paced thoughtfully towards the young man, extended his finger, and deliberately poked him in the shoulder.

Other than the natural physical reaction to the prod, righting himself to an upright sitting position, he gave no indication he was aware of it.

"Curiouser and curiouser," he muttered. Then he snapped out of his reverie and turned to address the others. "Seems to me that he needs a trigger like River did to go off the deep end on us. Not a great chance of that happenin' while we're out this far into the Black. We'll keep him here, with all of our eyes on him."

"And what if the trigger goes off?" asked Jayne, his hand still on his weapon. "We _are_ on an Alliance ship. Seems to me that a bullet'd be the best way to end all of our worries."

"Not all of 'em," snapped Mal. "'Cause it's either that or puttin' him back into the crate we found him next to. And I for one know who I'd rather be puttin' in there."

Jayne's eyes flickered to Kaylee's prone form, and he knew his point had been made. Relentless, he continued the assault against Jayne.

"I know you'd have no problem with endin' this here boy's life, but I got a few issues with it. There's been a few too many grey areas we've been slippin' into, this past week. I'm not gonna start blowin' out the brains of innocents just 'cause it's convenient."

"Even if he goes fahng-tzong fung-kwong duh jeh?"

Mal stared at him evenly. "That happens, I'll put a bullet to him myself. But not before." He appraised those conscious in the infirmary. "Understood?"

Zoe and Inara nodded, but Jayne merely looked away. Mal gestured to Inara.

"'Nara, why don't you get our boy here fixed up in one of the crew quarters? Oh, and, uh…lock the door when you're finished."

The Companion nodded, and rose to take the hand of the kid sat on the bed. He responded automatically, sliding off the bed and shuffling out of the room as the woman led him by the hand. Jayne sloped out immediately after them, but Mal let him go to stew. Starting a fight now wouldn't accomplish anything. He'd catch the other man later when he'd cooled down.

Mal looked back to Zoe, who had been observing him silently – watching him coldly.

He frowned slightly. "I done somethin' to piss you off?" he asked earnestly. For a moment it looked as though Zoe would fly from the bed and attack Mal, but she looked away, shaking her head slightly.

"No. I'm just thinkin'."

"'Bout Wash?" asked Mal gently. The first mate's head snapped back around at him, her eyes narrowing. He continued. "I been thinkin' about him a lot too, lately. And Shepherd Book. And Mr Universe, and all those others who had to die so that we could live. It's a long list right about now."

She was looking at him almost cautiously. "…My mind keeps wanderin' back to the day he died. Thinkin' if maybe…we coulda saved him if we'd stuck 'round long enough, 'stead of runnin' away."

Mal shook his head minutely. "I don't think so. I think we did everything we could for him. He was…gone…as soon as that harpoon came through the front of the ship."

She didn't let up with her intense gaze. "That's what I been thinkin'. But you know, there's always a chance. That things might've turned out different if we'd stayed."

"I think a lot of things could've turned out different that day. I wish they had've turned out different, because then we wouldn't be here, today. I wish Kaylee was okay again. I wish I still had Serenity. I wish…I wish a lot of things. But wishin' don't change the way things are."

Zoe nodded, apparently satisfied with his words. She looked away, down towards the floor. There they stayed in silence for a few long moments. Mal got the feeling that something significant had just happened, but he had no idea what it was.

He cleared his throat, bringing himself back to the present. "Uh, well, we'd best get Kaylee packed up in that cryo container," he said. "Could you…you know? I'd do it myself, but our girl has been through enough without losin' her dignity, too. I think she'd keep it if it was girls only in here for a few minutes."

Zoe nodded and wordlessly she slid from the bed. Mal went to wake Simon and remove him from the room. As for the location of Andrews, he had no idea. The man had been conspicuously absent all day.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Inara sat the boy down on the bed, and he complied with her movements without any resistance.

"You can stay here for as long as you like," she said, but then caught herself. She gave a little smile. "Well, actually you _have_ to stay here. But everything you could need is right here. If you want some food then you can raise us on the internal communications, but I'll be along later with a meal for you. Apparently it's not good for the constitution to eat soon after coming out of cryogenic storage."

He didn't respond. He simply stared at something that only he could see; lost in whatever world his mind existed in. Inara considered him again. He was vaguely attractive, in a youthful way. He was barely matured, and though his lean form did not stem from malnutrition, he was obviously far older through experience than he should have been at that moment. His youth amplified the horror of his vacant expression, knowing that the Alliance had and did inflict unimaginable acts upon those so young. Inara could draw some comfort from the fact that River was a testament to the fact that some could escape from the Alliance, but this boy sharply reminded her that others were not so lucky.

On a reflex, she patted his shoulder in an attempt to be reassuring. "What happened to you…?" she mused.

The boy's eyes sought out hers as she spoke.

"I'm the Package," he muttered, almost longingly. "I'm waiting to be delivered."

She almost smiled. "I know. Let's both hope that you never do."

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Later, the survivors of the Serenity and assembled fugitives of the Alliance gathered in the infirmary around Kaylee. She lay naked inside the crate Mal and Jayne had discovered in the cargo bay, but Zoe had prudently covered her modesty.

Every being on the ship save the Hunter and the newly discovered Package were contained in the room, but Mal suddenly wished they'd just done it and had it over with. The gathering felt uncomfortably like a funeral, though in reality this was Kaylee's best chance of survival.

He turned to address the assembled group of people. "Now don't go thinkin' this is the end of Kaylee. We're just sayin' goodbye to her for however long it takes us to figure out a way to save her from that…_thing._ And we will find a way. Same as we'll find a way to beat that Operative that's chasin' us. I know things might look bad now, and we'll never look back at these times and laugh 'bout them, but we will get through this. Because that's what we do."

Five sets of eyes were upon him, each of them weary and full of grief. He took a step outside himself and looked back at what he'd just said, and felt like an idiot. They didn't need vague reassurances and spirited words. They needed to know how they were going to get clear of this thing. They needed to hear a plan.

He felt himself relax, and he started to search for words, this time using his heart rather than his head. What would Kaylee say, he wondered? She always had a knack of finding a human, tangible approach to things. He decided that, although he could not ask the engineer to do it for him, he would draw from her ways and be honest with the assembled crew.

"We're not rutted," he said, and he saw Inara's eyebrows shoot up. "Might seem like we are, but we ain't. Look at what we've done already. We've been hurt, I ain't gonna try and deny that. But we've done some hurtin' of our own. Now, where are we? Not on that moon anymore, that's where. That Operative brought the full force of the Alliance down on us there, and we broke free of it. If we can survive that place, we can survive anything." His eyes found Simon's, and he knew his words had struck a chord with the doctor. But other members of his crew were less convinced.

"That's all well and good," said Jayne. "But what are we gonna do now?"

Mal looked away, towards the cryo crate. The answer to the question that Jayne had asked him two days ago still eluded him. On the moon it had been easy – up until now, every action he had taken had been purely reactionary. In the same way as he acted in a bar fight, Mal had simply responded to whatever the Operative had thrown at him. If he got punched in the face, then he'd throw one of his own back. But now, he had to consider carefully what course of action to take, because one mistake could mean everyone's doom.

His eyes found the pile of Kaylee's things – clothes folded neatly on the bed she had lain on until an hour ago. Something on top drew his attention, twinkling in the artificial light of the infirmary. He wandered to the pile and picked up the glittering object.

It was Kaylee's necklace, the one she had gotten from their first cargo haul to Taurus. The shiny beads gleamed, the light of the room bouncing from their hard, polished surfaces. Mal looked closer at it, and realised that he didn't know what the hell the thing was made of. Though it felt solid, it looked as though it should be a liquid – kind of like glass, but somehow organic.

No wonder Kaylee had been drawn to it, pondered Mal. And it was generous of…

The thought ended there. Beka. The woman who had given them the damned crate to begin with. The woman who had graciously given Kaylee one of the necklaces they had carried as bait to draw them into the fateful job that landed them in this mess, like she didn't know she was sending the engineer and the rest of them to their deaths.

Mal looked back at Jayne, his eyes shining with a new determination.

"Beka," he said.

"Who?" asked Inara.

That's right, Mal thought. Only he, Jayne and Kaylee had gone to the machine shop that the short, impish woman had offered them further work in.

"She was the one who gave us the job to carry the crate," he informed. "Back on Taurus."

"But I thought you said that the business there was a front – that there was something suspicious about the machine shop that made you realise later it was a set up."

"That I did. But, you know, people talk. Even if there's no paper trail on that building we can follow, then I'm sure someone out of the entire colony got wind of somethin' we can use to track her down."

"So…we ain't goin' after the Alliance anymore?" asked Jayne. Mal gave him a reproachful look.

"We never were. They're too big. But the Alliance and us want the same thing – to figure out where that crate came from. If we get there first, well then…we get the advantage."

"What kind of an advantage is that?"

"The only one that matters. We can't fight the Alliance with guns on this one. The only weapon that's gonna hurt them is knowledge – we already have some, which is why they're hurtin' to kill us so badly. But we've tugged on a bit of wool, and their tangled web is startin' to unravel. We keep pullin' and the whole thing falls apart for them, and the next thread is wherever Beka is now." He turned to Zoe. "Exactly how far out are we?" he asked.

"Far," she replied. "Far enough to be outside the maximum sensor range of an Alliance cruiser. It'll take us a few hours to even get back into the outer system."

"Well, we don't wanna come back the way we came. Let's see if we can't plot a course that'll take us as close to Taurus while keepin' us in the Black for as long as we can."

Zoe nodded and exited the room, making towards the cockpit. Mal addressed the rest of them.

"While we're up there makin' our course, you should all be down here tryin' to figure out how you can help. Inara, look after our new arrival; Jayne, keep lookin' around for the Hunter; Simon, take care of River and Kaylee down here. We all have tasks to perform, and we all need to carry 'em out if we wanna survive. So let's do 'em."

He went to dismiss the assembled group, but Andrews stepped forward. "Uhm…what should I do?"

Mal eyed him neutrally. "Is there somethin' you _should_ be doin'?"

The New Independent's eyes became hard. "Look, I know what's happening. You don't trust me. That's fine. But I'm in as deep as you are, and I'm not going to just sit by while things go to hell around me. And besides that," he said, becoming indignant, "I've put my ass on the line to help you out. I could be back on my ship, with my crew – who all died, in case you've forgotten – but instead I'm here. I'm not sayin' I regret it, because I can't change the past. But, you know. Give me a bit of gorram credit. I think I've earned it."

Mal suffered the tirade without flinching. He simply nodded after the other man finished. "Fair enough. Get down to the engine room; see if you can't figure out how to make this thing tick. Our engineer is about to get frozen and we could do with a pair of eyes down there to see if anythin' starts smokin' or leakin' when it shouldn't."

He nodded and exited the room, but both men knew the real purpose behind Mal's order: give Andrews something to do that wouldn't jeopardise the mission and keep him out of the way. Jayne and Inara slipped out behind the newcomer, and Mal turned back to Simon.

"Think we can put her under now?" he asked, subdued, and Simon just nodded. He hobbled over to the crate on the crutches propped underneath his arms, but waved Mal away when he tried to assist the injured man.

"This isn't the first time I've been shot, Mal," he said. "I can handle it."

"Spoken like a true veteran," said the captain. "Just don't think it's such a good idea, you walkin' around so soon after we plugged the hole in your side is all."

"The dilaftin has closed up the wound. It encourages a quicker rate of tissue regeneration, so there's little chance of the injury opening up again. Strangely, I expect the hole in my side to have healed up faster than the split in my lip. _That_ is something I expect to be opening up frequently."

"You in much pain?"

"Not really. I'm still on medication, so it's more of a dull throb than a full blown attack of pain," said Simon. "I should be off these crutches in a few days. Within a week I'll be back to normal."

"Good," said Mal. They stood over the cryo container with Kaylee's prone form lying inside. "Well…I guess the sooner we put her under, the more chance she has of…"

"Yeah…you're right."

Simon stooped to the container and switched a few controls on the side of the device. The crate emitted a few sharp beeps and warbles, and then the lid started to slide shut, the chamber filling with a light mist that would slow Kaylee's vitals to an almost standstill.

"Goodbye girly," said Mal quietly. "See you soon."

Then the lid was closed, and Kaylee was locked away inside that cold, heartless chamber for Lord knew how long. Mal stood for a few more moments, taking in the sight, and then started to pace away and out of the infirmary. Simon let him go without saying a word.

The doctor dialled a few more controls on the cryo crate, and then stood to check on his sister. The automated doctor on board the ship seemed to be keeping her stable, satisfying Simon's medical concerns.

He left the infirmary then, pacing unevenly with his crutches, and entered a door further down the dark corridor. He needed to shower. He needed to get rid of the dirt and mud and fruit juice that was still smeared onto his body. He needed to be clean again.

He took off the medical gown and then started to shed the tattered pieces of clothing that clung to his body, peeling off the material stiff with dirt and God knows what else. He was so dirty that he could feel the clean patch Mal and Inara had cleared to perform his surgery along his side.

Once he had removed the offending pieces of clothing, he activated the showers and dialled the temperature right up. The water sped from the ceiling, sending torrents of steam from the cascade.

After hesitating for a few moments, Simon stepped underneath the rush of liquid and felt his skin start to burn with the heat. The dirt was being seared from his body – that was the only way he was going to feel clean again.

He held his head under the flow of water, feeling the liquid cascade through his hair and spout down from his chin. He did this every time he felt incapable, or nervous, or stressed, or pressured. The water seemed to suspend reality, and he could escape to a place where nothing could interrupt him. The water overwhelmed all of his senses, and he could immerse himself in his own thoughts totally.

He was going to do it, he realised almost immediately. He was going to betray Mal and the others, and he wouldn't feel guilty about it.

"_Simon Tam. Listen very carefully to what I'm about to say."_

"_What? Who are you?" But then he remembered. The woman they had escaped from on the Alliance cruiser. A chill ran down his spine, piercing even the cloud of medication that hung in his mind._

"_Don't call out," instructed the Operative, having seen his eyes widen in realisation of her identity. "You must listen carefully to me."_

_Simon nodded on reflex, still dumbfounded by the alprazaline. _Maybe this is a dream,_ he thought._

"_Unless you follow my instructions exactly, your sister is going to die."_

_It took a few seconds for that to sink in. Anger and fear rose in cohort up in his throat, threatening to break the silence he had promised to this woman. She continued._

"_Back on that moon, before your escape, I was in contact with River. I spoke a code word to her that forced her body to place itself in a vegetative coma. Only I know how to wake her up again, and unless that happens, River's mind will start to degenerate and rot away to nothing. She will be nothing but an empty shell; a living entity in name only."_

_Tears were burning in Simon's eyes. "That's not possible," he spat through the emotion clinging to his throat. "You couldn't do that to her."_

_She smiled. "Don't take my word for it," she said. "Check her vital signs. You'll find a degenerative pattern embedded in her delta waves. I'd give her a week at the outside before her condition is irreversible."_

"_What do you want from me?" grunted Simon. She shook her head._

"_No, I insist. See for yourself. I'll be in touch once you have proof of River's condition. And I don't think I need to tell you, but I will – tell no one of our communication, or River dies."_

_The monitor flickered off. Simon had anxiously performed the test on River's brain, and the next day, he had the results._

It wasn't a dream. The Operative was right. River's delta waves were starting to degrade. He had no idea how, or why, but as she had told him, River would be brain dead in a little over a week.

Back on the moon he had killed someone in cold blood – an action that was weighing heavily on his thoughts. He knew that he would remember the emotion of that moment forever, and he would question his actions for a long time. But when it came to River, he had no such qualms about morality. He would do anything to protect his sister. _Anything._ He had no idea what the Operative was going to ask of him, but he had little doubt in his mind that he would do it. Whatever game was being played, that evil bitch had found exactly where to hit him, and he was now helpless in her grasp.

Spitting water from his mouth, Simon emerged from underneath the stream of water, resolved now to his course. All he could do was wait and see how he was going to betray the others. And then he would do it.

A/N:

_Thanks to ccb, mbali, Cosmic Castaway, MAndrews, Lecter and rpitrof for your reviews. I'm glad you're all still enjoying it after the break._

_Lecter: I know exactly what you mean, but the violent start to the story burned itself out, for me as a writer and in terms of the narrative. I felt it would become boring if I kept with the physical element, and though this new arc of the mental element might not be as attention grabbing, I feel that it's a natural evolution of the story. I hope you continue to enjoy reading despite that :)_

_rpitrof: Don't feel guilty, I'm just glad you're enjoying it!_


	15. Day Five: Going Back to the Beginning

**Day Five**

**Going Back to the Beginning**

"We're about to enter the potential range of an Alliance sensor array," said Zoe tersely. Through the forward screen of the cockpit, the sun of the system they called home was getting larger by the hour. Soon they would be approaching the fringes of the system, and then beyond that, Taurus.

Mal slumped into the opposite chair to Zoe. "Any sign of anythin' we can pick up?"

"Nothing. The sky is clear."

"Anythin' from on board the ship? No transmissions comin' in or out?"

Zoe hesitated for a split second before speaking, a pause that was lost on Mal.

"There's nothin' in the logs."

Mal nodded. "Good enough. Carry on scannin'. We need to be ready to hightail it in the opposite direction if anythin' – "

"_Mal!"_ came a frantic cry from the rear section of the ship. Mal was up in an instant, but waved Zoe to stay in her seat.

"Stay here!" he called over his shoulder.

He sped as fast as his injured knee would allow him to travel through the narrow corridors of the ship, heading towards the sound of the screaming.

He turned a corner to see Jayne running towards him, yelling incoherently. Just as he was about to call to the other man and ask what all the commotion was about, the Hunter emerged from one of the compartments further away from the fleeing mercenary and started tearing towards him.

"Woah!" cried Mal, summoning his best authoritative voice. _"Stop!"_ he yelled at the Hunter as Jayne forced his way past Mal, using the captain as a shield against the oncoming creature.

The Hunter started to slow in its advance, and came to a complete halt just inches from Mal's outstretched hand. It flared its mandibles threateningly towards Jayne, but it did not proceed past the invisible barrier that Mal had created. After a few moments of staring down Jayne, it turned and sloped off back down the corridor. Mal turned to the wide-eyed Jayne.

"What the hell happened?" he asked.

"I found it in the mess hall, eatin' our stuff!" explained Jayne. "When I tried to make it stop, it started chasin' me."

"Jayne…does trying to make it stop mean that you attacked it?"

Jayne looked as innocent as possible. "Well…only a little."

"How do you attack something only a little?" he demanded, but then he sighed, not even waiting to hear Jayne's reply. He walked away towards the mess hall.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Responding to their captain's summons, those members of the crew who were able had gathered in the mess hall, grouping together on the furthest edge of the room from the kitchen at the rear, where the Hunter was stooped devouring their stores of food.

Zoe had remained up in the cockpit, and Simon, the last member to enter the hall, hobbled in through the hatch on his crutches.

"What's wrong?" he asked, puzzled. Upon hearing his voice, the Hunter appeared from behind a row of cabinets, fixing him with that haughty glare common to its race. After a moment of evaluation, it sank back down to the floor where it had gathered its horde of food. Simon nodded, understanding. "Ah. Never mind."

"I wonder where it's been," pondered Inara, but Jayne didn't care about any of that.

"I say we get rid of it."

"That's only because it keeps trying to kill you," said Mal. Jayne was less than impressed by Mal's response.

"Well…yeah. Imagine if that thing was after _you_," he said.

"Fair enough point," murmured Simon.

"What _are_ we going to do about…it?" asked Inara, keeping an eye on the row of cabinets that concealed the alien being from their view. Mal pursed his lips.

"Well, if it wanted us dead, we would be by now," he said.

"Except for me," stated Jayne indignantly. Mal gave a look, only half paying attention to the man.

"You should stop pissin' it off if you don't wanna get killed," he said. Before Jayne could reply, he had continued past the point. "I'm not sure we could kill it if we wanted to. It seems to be good at that kinda thing."

"I'm not going up against it in such close quarters," said Simon vehemently. "And that's the end of it."

Mal let the ultimatum slide, seeing as how Simon had just agreed with him. "No one's sayin' that, Doc."

"Good."

It suddenly appeared from behind the cabinets, clutching an armful of food. It paced around to the other side of the kitchen, in full view of the assembled crew. It dumped its horde on the deck, gave them a threatening glare, and then began to pick through its spoils.

"Can you communicate with it?" asked Inara. Mal and Simon exchanged a glance.

"Vaguely," said Simon finally.

"Then why not keep it on board? Wherever it's living, it's staying out of the way. And who knows, one day it might come in handy to have such a creature respond to your commands."

"I doubt that thing responds to 'sit' very well," said Jayne sardonically, but Inara dismissed the comment.

"It's followed Mal's instructions before now, otherwise you'd be dead."

"I could'a taken it," insisted Jayne, but he was ignored.

"Alright then," said Mal. "I guess it's settled. We let it be for now."

"What? We pick up any more passengers, we'd best start chargin'," said Jayne. "First Soldier-Boy, then Psycho-Kid and now the Beast from Space Lagoon. Remember what happened the last time we started pickin' up passengers?"

"Jayne, that's enough," snapped Mal. "I don't wanna hear it. You don't like it, you can find another boat to ride on."

Jayne backed down from the confrontation, muttering under his breath.

Attempting to defuse the situation, Inara tried to move the conversation forward. "So, does it have a name?"

There was a momentary pause as they stopped to consider the point. Did it? Mal and Simon couldn't recall any meaningful words spoken by the creatures, let alone anything that would present itself as a name. Did it even _have_ a name? Maybe they identified each other through smell, or something like that.

"I dunno," admitted Mal, accompanied by Simon's shrug. "Could you ask it?" Simon gave him a meaningful look, and Mal abandoned the idea. "Yeah, I guess not."

"We could give it a name," said Jayne.

"Like what?"

"…'Rage'," said Jayne, sparking a reaction of muted laughter in the others. He turned defensive, sitting up in his chair. "What?"

"We can't call the first intelligent alien organism encountered by humanity at large, 'Rage'," said Simon.

"Well let's hear your idea, if you're so smart."

Put on the spot, Simon shifted uncomfortably. "How about…" he said, searching his memory for anything appropriate. "Uhm…"

"See, ain't so clever now, are you?" asked Jayne smugly.

"'Sunshine'," said Mal. "Or 'Beast'."

Inara shot him a perplexed expression. "How can those both be your suggestions?"

Mal shrugged. "The second one should be obvious."

"Yeah, that's not the one I was puzzled about."

"Why don't we just carry on calling it 'Hunter'?" asked Simon. "Hasn't that been working for us so far?"

"Yeah, but it's been _the_ Hunter, not 'Hunter'," said Mal. "It ain't personal enough now. That ain't even the right name for them, just that we were a bit pressed for time when we first encountered them."

"Oaty," said Andrews abruptly. Mal had forgotten he was even there. The rest of them turned slowly to regard him.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" asked Jayne. Andrews shrugged.

"That's all it's eating. Look."

Sure enough, upon closer inspection, the Hunter was rummaging about the assembled foodstuffs and extracting only Oaty Bars from the pile. The tattered remains of the wrappers were gathering to the side of the creature; it obviously figured out quickly that they weren't edible. Aware of attracting the crew's sudden attention, the Hunter looked up and grunted, one of the bars hanging from its mouth.

Mal pursed his lips. "Oaty," he said, trying it out.

Simon's face had screwed up. "Oaty? Are we really calling it that? Naming an important scientific find after a mass produced cereal bar?"

"You got any better suggestions?" asked Jayne, but the doctor did not.

"Okay, Oaty it is," he said, shrugging. He stood from the table and placed his crutches under both arms. "I'll be in the infirmary. I need to make some adjustments to the cryo container." With that, he hobbled from the mess hall and back along the corridor. Inara stood soon after he had left.

"I should probably go and check on our Package. If he's been delivered, then things might get messy."

As she spoke, the rest of the crew joined her to stand. This little meeting was over. They meandered back to different parts of the ship, leaving Oaty to eat in peace.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Simon had been in the infirmary for no more than five minutes when the monitor on the second bed from the right started to beep. He eyed it cautiously, but nevertheless moved to accept the incoming transmission.

To no surprise whatsoever, the Operative sat on the other side of the wave, looking for all of the world like a concerned friend. Simon knew better.

"What do you want now?" he asked hostilely. She blinked, as if she was caught off guard by the statement.

"Why, Simon. That isn't any way to talk to a partner."

"We aren't partners."

"Then what would you call our arrangement?"

"Blackmail? Coercion? Manipulation?" shot Simon in rapid-fire bursts of speech, tense with emotion. "Take your pick, but let's not play games here, shall we? You want me to do something, and I'm going to do it, because if I don't, you will let my sister die. Now," he said, repeating the phrase he had used at the very start of their conversation. "What do you want?"

The Operative nodded. "Fair enough. I want you to tell me exactly where on your ship Jayne Cobb is."

"I don't know," said Simon truthfully.

"Very well – in which cabin is he staying?"

"Last time I checked, one of the senior officer's quarters. Starboard side."

"Is anyone else staying in that area?"

"No."

She eyed him, trying to determine whether or not he was telling the truth. Simon merely returned the stare, unashamed of his actions. He trusted this Operative as far as he could throw her one handed, but he had no choice. River's condition was worsening, and he was no expert regarding the complex matters of the brain – particularly unidentifiable degenerative disorders. It just wasn't his specialty, besides which the facilities he had available to him were, at best, basic. To properly identify River's condition he would need access to much more advanced equipment, and the last time he'd had access to something similar was back on Ariel; and to get that he'd needed to stage a robbery on the place to enlist the help of the crew of the Serenity. There simply wasn't time.

She seemed to take his words at face value. "Very well. Thank you for the information."

"You're not welcome. When will you tell me how to cure River? Is it even possible?"

"Oh, it's possible," said the Operative maddeningly knowingly. "But I can't tell you that just yet. However, as a sign of good faith, I'll throw you a small morsel in exchange for the information you just provided. The reason River is in the state she is now is because…"

"Doctor!" called a voice from the corridor beyond the threshold to the infirmary. Simon quickly pawed at the monitor, terminating the transmission. He grit his teeth in seething frustration, knowing that the information the Operative had been just about to divulge was likely lost forever.

Andrews poked his head around the doorway, a frown on his face.

"You the only one in here?"

Simon nodded quickly. "Yes, just me."

"Did I just hear you talking to someone?"

"Talking? Ah…no, I was…I was talking to myself. It's an old habit. I'm trying to understand what's wrong with River. It helps me to think when I can talk a problem through out loud."

Andrews frowned again, this time not out of concern. "…Right. Well, I'll be down in the engine room. Holler if you need me."

He turned and walked out of the infirmary. _Trying to understand what's wrong with River?_ he thought. _We both know perfectly well what's wrong with River._

The problem was broaching the subject in question – that one of their number was being subverted by the Alliance – with a crew that disliked him and held him in great suspicion. He wasn't quite a prisoner of war, but it was close enough to qualify. At this point it was his word against Simon's, and Andrews was smart enough to figure out which way the crew's decision would swing.

His eyes narrowed, trying to work out the situation to a favourable result for all parties. And failing that, a favourable result for him.

He was going to be keeping a very close eye on Simon Tam.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"We'll be hitting atmo in about thirty minutes," said Zoe. The big hunk of rock known as Taurus loomed close in the transport's front screen. Mal looked out at the planet pensively. So much had happened since they had last set foot on the surface of the farming world.

"Any Alliance contacts?" he asked again. Zoe shook her head for the third time.

"No. We're still pretty far out, remember?" said Zoe. Mal nodded, but her valid point did not satisfy his unease. Something else was going on here. The more he thought it, the more he was convinced that there was something eluding him; that he had missed a vital part of the situation. The complete lack of any activity that could halt their progress did little to make him feel relieved – just the opposite. Mal was a firm believer in Murphy's Law, and right now everything was going a little too smoothly for his liking. If something wasn't going wrong, then it meant that something was going wrong.

His mind played over the irrational logic as they approached the planet, and ultimately he shook off the feeling. There was nothing more he could do about things, he decided. If it was going to hit the fan, then they'd just have to roll and deal with it. Nothing he could do now could change that; this was their only move.

He summoned the rest of the crew to the mess hall as they achieved orbit, hoping that the Hunter – that is, Oaty – wouldn't respond and turn up as well. He had enough to worry about without trying to control a savage alien.

As he stepped into the room with Zoe, his crew turned and fixed him with gazes filled with nervous energy. They were feeling it, too. It was too quiet, even for a fringe world.

"Listen up," he started. "We've got a few things to do on this here world 'fore we can move on. First, we need supplies that aren't Alliance ration packs. Second, we need to figure out where Beka is, or where she's gone. The second thing is more important than the first thing. And that's all. Any questions?"

Jayne raised his hand. "Yeah, about buyin' in supplies…with what money exactly are we supposed to do that?"

"This _is_ a troop transport, ain't it?" returned Mal. "I'm sure there's a few things rattlin' around worth a penny or two. And while we're out barterin' with the locals, we might catch a whisper 'bout where Beka might've headed. Anythin' else?"

There were no other points raised, so Mal moved right along to assigning tasks.

"Zoe, Andrews, Simon, you're gonna stay on board the ship, make sure we don't get any unwelcome visitors. Remember, this is an Alliance boat and it will stay fresh in the local's minds for a while. 'Specially as we're in a troop transport that don't got no troops. Might attract unwanted attention, and I don't want anyone wanderin' the ship."

That was what he said, but what he _meant_ was that Simon was in no condition to be roaming around the port, that he didn't trust Andrews enough to let him wander freely, and was leaving Zoe to keep an eye on him. And if anyone _did_ come with notions of hijacking the vessel, then Mal was sure that Oaty would lend his hand to fend off any invaders of his territory. Or…his paw, or whatever.

He continued giving out assignments. "Me, Inara and Jayne are gonna split up and mosey around the town keepin' our eyes open and our ears to the ground. If we can pick up any supplies then that's a bonus, but as discussed, that's just a cover to help us get intel. Right then…let's move out."

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Stepping off the ship was an enormous relief to Jayne. Though he had spent up to several months cooped up on a vessel before, this was the first time he'd done it with a hostile alien wandering the corridors thirsty for blood. Stepping into natural daylight was like bathing after being dirty for weeks. Inhaling a lungful of fresh air was like ingesting ambrosia. And drinking alcohol was going to be better than sex. Well, not quite, but it was definitely up there. _Hmm,_ he thought. _Sex. Wonder if there's a whorehouse 'round here?_

He started towards the bar and got halfway there before he realised he had no money with which to pay for the booze. He changed his course towards a small store that lay between him and the bar, intending to trade the assembled valuables he carried in a sack over his shoulder for money.

Mal and Inara had wandered off in another direction, seeking out a lead or some food that hadn't been sealed airtight about four years ago. While Jayne could recognise that finding Beka was an important priority, it came second to his own needs.

He entered the store, and was greeted by the grizzled features of an ancient man sitting behind a wooden counter. The empty store was like a hundred others Jayne had entered in his time. An odd assortment of goods was strewn about the store, reflecting the nature of the business the old man was running. He would buy your old junk and sell it to anyone who showed an interest. Which suited Jayne's interests fine.

He stomped up to the counter, dumped the sack onto the wooden surface and smiled as amicably as he could. The old man simply stared at Jayne, no emotion playing across his wizened face.

"I wanna sell some stuff," said Jayne.

He was regarded in silence for a good few moments before receiving a reply.

"You come off that Alliance ship?"

"What? Me? No," lied Jayne. "I'm off, uh, another ship. One that has absolutely nothing to do with the Alliance."

Another silent assessment. Finally the storekeeper leaned forward and started to leaf through the contents of Jayne's bag of stuff from the ship with hands slowed by age. Jayne harboured no guilt at profiting from someone else' misfortune – after all, this wasn't the first time he had done it, and besides, the troops were all dead. It wasn't like they would be needing this stuff any time soon. He was even slightly happy that it was at the Alliance's expense he was profiting, because although he generally didn't care one way or another about the government, they _had_ just tried to kill him several times over the past few days. It was the kind of thing a guy could take personally.

The door rattled open behind him, and a figure paced across the wooden floor towards the counter. Heavy footsteps boomed ahead of the newcomer, so much so that Jayne eventually looked up from his valuation, disturbed from the thought of gathering money.

The male Operative stood next to Jayne at the counter, grinning smugly at the mercenary. "Been a while," he said.

Jayne's fist clenched and flew towards the Operative's face, but the Alliance agent had the element of surprise. He stepped backwards, evading the strike entirely, and grabbed Jayne by the extended arm and neck. He shoved hard on the man, forcing his head down and into the wooden counter. His skull shook with the impact, and Jayne found that he had been stunned momentarily.

It was more than enough time for the Operative to pin Jayne to the surface, imprisoning any possible resistance from his prey. He looked up at the old man, who hadn't as much as flinched during the proceedings.

"Give us a minute?"

The storekeeper looked at the body armour that stuck up through the layers of civilian clothing the Operative was wearing, and took the hint. He slid from his stool and vanished into the back of the store. The Operative turned his attention back to Jayne.

"Don't even think about calling out for help," he threatened, but Jayne had nothing of the sort in mind. He struggled in vain against his captor's strong grip, but realised quickly there would be no escape from the man.

"What do you want?" he grunted. The Operative didn't reply. Jayne heard something metallic whir to life behind him.

"This is going to hurt," he said to Jayne. Something exploded into Jayne's back, and the man cried out in pain.

"What the hell was that?" he exclaimed, trying ineffectively to escape his captivity. The Operative held him steady.

"In short, it's a bomb," he informed. "I'm going to let you go now, but please keep in mind that with one bad look from you, I can turn your ribcage into a gaping aperture."

"Huh?"

"You misbehave, and your chest goes boom."

Jayne shook off the Operative's grip finally, but because he had been allowed to. He fled to the far side of the store, feeling the wound in his back gingerly as best he could with his arm stretched behind him. The agent just smirked at him. Jayne took in his opponent properly for the first time, and his eyes widened in startled indignation.

"Hey, that's Vera!" he exclaimed, seeing the powerful weapon and love of his life slung from the Operative's shoulder with a harness. "She's mine!"

"Not anymore," said the Operative coldly. "I've requisitioned _her_ for the cause. I'll be honest; I didn't think you could get much more pumped full of testosterone, but then I hear you refer to your enormous phallic instrument of death with a woman's name. Tell me," he said, squinting oddly at Jayne. "Are you trying to compensate for something?"

Jayne went to surge forward, but his enemy held up a small device and tapped it with his forefinger, halting his movement.

His face twisted up with frustration. "You don't understand," said Jayne desperately. "Just let me have her back."

"I don't think so. Maybe once we've set a few things straight."

Jayne nodded eagerly.

"Yeah, sure, okay."

"Good. I need for you and I to start to work together."

Jayne's eyes narrowed. He didn't like the sound of that, but the Operative continued.

"You're going to go back to your ship and keep this meeting secret. You're going to be my eyes and ears on board that vessel."

"Eyes and ears…? Why?"

The Operative looked at Jayne with shrewd eyes. "Because unless I'm very much mistaken, my female usurper has already begun to subvert your crew. Your job is going to be to ascertain which crewmembers are under her influence, and what she's trying to make them do."

Subvert the crew? There were a few more big words than Jayne would have liked in the man's explanation, but he managed to get the gist of it.

"That's impossible," he snorted. "How'd she even find us?"

"How did _I_ find you?" countered the Alliance agent. Jayne's forehead creased as he addressed the point in his mind. "Exactly. You _are_ riding in an Alliance troop transport. Besides which, it wasn't difficult to figure out your destination. This is where it all started, after all."

"But…aren't you tryin' to kill us anymore?" Jayne's eyes sought out the wound on the Operative's cheek – a slice made by his own knife, back on the moon.

The man smirked. "Yes. But now I have more than you to deal with. You see, I am no longer…affiliated…with the Alliance. That's why we have to start co-operating. You're going to help me to fight our enemies."

"But _you're_ my enemy!"

"The twisted webs we weave," said the Operative, shrugging. "Now, to business. She is going to contact you soon, no doubt with an offer of freedom and a massive sum of money. Ordinarily you would be stupid enough to believe that she would make good on that offer, but now things are different."

"You want me to say no?"

The Operative's eyes flashed with derision. "What? No. I want you to accept. The difference is, you know that she's lying now."

"Uh…okay."

"She will force you to reveal a trivial piece of information to begin with, most likely the location of another member of your crew. Give her that piece of information."

"Wait…why would she do that? Why not make me blow up the ship?"

He sighed in exasperation. "Because she doesn't want to kill you. And besides which, asking you to begin by doing something drastic wouldn't work. She needs to build from the ground up. By beginning with unimportant information, each progressive stage is easier to stomach by the person being manipulated. Additionally, asking for the location of another member of the crew creates an atmosphere of paranoia because each person she manipulates is at least suspicious of the fact that she is in, or will make, contact with another. And you didn't understand a word of that, did you?"

"Well…some of it."

The truth was, Jayne wasn't as stupid as the Operative believed he was. He understood perfectly the situation – at least, after it had been explained to him in detail – and now he was mining for information. The more he could have spelled out for him, the more likely he could figure out a way to get that bomb out of his chest.

"So you want me to keep an eyes on the others?" he asked.

"In short, yes. I need to know who she's contacted and why. The trouble is, she has plans for your crew and I don't know what they are. By ascertaining the activities she is forcing on people I can narrow down exactly what it is she's trying to make you do."

"How am I meant to figure out what she's makin' them do if she's told them to keep it a secret?"

The Operative's blue eyes seemed to pierce Jayne's soul. "I'm sure you'll think of something. Here's something to do while you're mentally assessing the situation."

He flipped something into the air towards Jayne, who caught it on reflex. On closer examination, he found that he was holding a portable memory unit.

"What's this?"

"You know what it is. Just plug it into the ship's mainframe – the device will take care of the rest."

"You know what I mean. What'll it do?"

But, typically, the Operative shook his head, indicating he wasn't about to reveal too much of the situation to Jayne. He went to move towards the exit, thinking their conversation was complete, but the Operative stepped forward and grabbed him by the shoulder.

"I know exactly what you're thinking. That you're going to go back to the ship and just tell everyone what happened here. But I'd think twice about that course of action. You see, the device in your back also acts as a long-range transmitter. It's capable of picking up the vibrations in your body – that is, speech – and sending them to me, so assume that I'm listening to every word that you say. Oh, and I wouldn't write anything down for the next few days. It's also capable of feeling any action you perform, so writing the situation down for someone won't work."

His plan scuppered, Jayne's shoulders sank slightly. It turned out that he was completely in this man's control. The Operative walked to the counter and rummaged through the bag of belongings Jayne had brought from the ship. He forced open the moneybox and took a handful of coins from inside.

He walked back to his victim and slapped the money into his hand. "This seems like a fair price for everything you brought. Go and get a drink and a whore. That's what you were going to do, right?"

Jayne's hand rested on the handle of the door to leave when the Operative spoke again.

"Oh, and Jayne?"

The mercenary turned back to look at the agent with hateful eyes.

"The woman you came here searching for? Tell your crew she left for Beylix four days ago."

"Another lie?" asked Jayne resentfully, but the Operative shook his head.

"No. I'm searching for her too. My previous assignment was to hunt down where your crate came from. It's just easier if you're all within arms reach while I'm tracking down that lead."

With a final grunt, Jayne left the shop. Minutes later, the Operative made his exit, and the old man returned from the back of the store. He gauged how much money the Alliance agent had taken, and then started to place the new goods on display around the store.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Zoe stepped out onto the dirt surrounding the ship, inhaling a lungful of dusty air. She blinked against the afternoon sun, raising one hand to shield her eyes. She noticed a couple of the locals directing odd looks her way, but she didn't especially care. In fact, she barely registered their existence – her mind was otherwise occupied.

Coming out onto the planet was her way of trying to deal with the knowledge lurking inside her mind like a caged animal. Pacing the dark corridors of the ship didn't seem to be giving her any relief, so instinctually she had followed her desire to warm herself in natural daylight, as if exposure to the sun might ease her worries.

That was a foolish notion, she quickly discovered. She felt as though the ball of knowledge was like a cancer growing steadily in her consciousness – growing larger and more powerful with each passing moment, dominating her thoughts further and further. Any attempt to try and dislodge its position of power simply provoked it, drawing her attention even more, until she just wanted to tear at her hair and scream until she had no strength left to do so.

This was where the Operative's power lay, Zoe knew – this terrible limbo between certainty and doubt. The evidence available to her told her that Wash was dead, and she was inclined to agree with the notion. But that meant that she wished her husband dead, and more than anything she wanted him by her side. This Operative was telling her what she wanted most in the world, and of course she was going to try and see the possibility through, because if she didn't then it meant that if Wash _was_ still alive, then he would spend the rest of his miserable existence rotting away with those two men who would do…not nice things to him. That much she had witnessed through the cortex transmission sent to her by the Operative in exchange for Simon's location.

And what had become of that, anyway? She found herself watching Simon more and more, convinced that he would start behaving erratically, but he had shown no indication that he had been approached by the Operative, nor that he was under any kind of pressure.

Zoe suddenly and viciously kicked a stone. It clattered across the patch of dirt that the locals referred to as a landing platform until it hit the side of another ship, the dull metallic report bouncing back to her ears. She would give anything to be back on that moon, where everything was so much simpler. At least then the Alliance was trying to kill them. Now…she didn't know what the hell they wanted, or even what they were doing. The 'verse had suddenly become a much murkier place, and Zoe got the impression that things were going on that were so huge that her small mind would never comprehend them fully. That she was being used as a pawn to play a small, insignificant role in those events and that she would be discarded without remorse once her part was completed.

Tears stung her eyes. As long as she had Wash after that, then she didn't care. And that was when she realised fully that she would do anything the Operative told her to do. Despite any grievances her loyalty would raise, and though she would feel tortured about it afterwards, she suddenly _knew_ that her desire would override any of those qualms. All it ultimately boiled down to was: Did she want Wash back?

The answer was yes. Would she do anything to get him back? Yes. Even if all signs pointed to the fact that _he was dead and she could never have him back?_ …Yes. She just couldn't leave the possibility unexplored. Either way she would regret it for the rest of her wretched life – she might as well choose the way that might let her be with Wash again.

She sighed, the tears threatening to become a flood. She started back towards the extended cargo ramp of the ship. She'd best be back before the Captain…before Mal and the others returned.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"Beylix?"

Jayne nodded. "Yeah. That's what the guy in the store told me, anyhow."

Mal pursed his lips. Beylix would be a problem. From there Beka could have bought any of the dirt cheap and completely untraceable ships from a scrap yard and gone anywhere in the system. It would also be harder to track her down because on Taurus she was noticeable – she ran a machine shop, a place many people would have visited. On Beylix she was just another person looking for a cheap ride.

The machine shop they had first encountered Beka inside was, predictably, empty. No trace remained of the store Mal, Kaylee and Jayne had visited just days earlier. _What a difference a week makes,_ reflected Mal. The locals couldn't, or wouldn't, give up any information that might have helped them, save the one Jayne spoke to.

Which made Mal instantly suspicious.

He and Inara had searched the port for hours seeking out a viable lead, and neither of them had found even a mention of the owners of the machine shop. And, according to Jayne's account, he wandered into the port and the very first person he speaks to gives him a definite identification and location of their target. Mal would like to meet the person who would spill that information to Jayne rather than Inara.

Jayne was the only member of the crew, except Andrews, whom he thought could be easily swayed by either of the Operatives seeking them out. An enormous bribe and a promise of immunity would be all it would take to sway the man. Coupled with the fact that he had been edgy since they had achieved orbit, Mal couldn't even begin to trust Jayne's information. Everything was just so quiet. Even on a fringe world they should have run into some kind of hitch; the Alliance, after all, seemed to have focussed their entire force onto the crew of the Firefly named Serenity, and it wouldn't be hard to figure out that this was where the trail had started leading from the crate they carried, filled with those alien organisms. Mal knew for a fact at least one of the Operatives had been tasked with that mission – to find the source of the crate.

If Jayne wasn't being coerced, then he had been fed false information, decided Mal. There was no way he was going anywhere _near_ Beylix.

He looked across to where Jayne and Inara stood, squinting in the afternoon sun of the planet. He scanned Jayne's face, trying to detect any sign that he was lying, but with the way he had his face screwed up against the glare of the sun, he couldn't detect much of anything from the mercenary.

"That so?" he said finally. Jayne nodded quickly. Mal looked away, nodding. "Alright then. Well, I don't see much of a benefit in goin' to Beylix. It'd be too much trouble to try and find her."

"What?" exploded Jayne. "But…I got information!"

"And for that I'm grateful," said Mal. "But it'd be impossible to track her. The place is one big junkyard. It'd be like lookin' for a needle in a whole barn of hay. No, it'd be like lookin' for a needle that's seen the needle we're lookin' for and can tell us where it's gone. We'll find another way." _Whatever the hell that ends up being,_ he thought to himself. _Because right now, I've got nothin'._

"Huh. Another way," said Jayne as Mal and Inara boarded the ship. "I guess we're not goin' to Beylix after all."

A mile away, the Operative, sat at a small bank of surveillance equipment, punched the wall in frustration. His scheme had been cut down at the first hurdle.

"Never mind," he muttered to himself. "There's always plan B."

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Jayne stalked the corridors of the ship, casting cautious eyes all around him in case the Hunter were to put in an appearance. He padded from the communal bathroom to the cabin he had claimed, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind him.

The Operative was going to be pissed, he thought. A shiver tickled his spine as he recalled the device that had been implanted into his back. As far as he could see twisting his neck with his back to a mirror, the wound was a clean one, and didn't look nearly as bad as it felt. In fact, at first Jayne didn't see anything, but a closer examination revealed a welt rising from his skin with a red pinprick nestled in the centre.

He was breaking out in a cold sweat every few moments, expecting them to be his last. The Operative had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he had to direct the ship towards Beylix, because that was where he was headed. He also knew that the Operative knew that Beylix _was_ where Beka had gone, but he couldn't exactly tell Mal that he knew that, because then Mal would know that Jayne knew something more than he had been instructed to let the others know that he knew…

He frowned and cursed under his breath. This was giving him a headache. Mind games were definitely not his area of expertise.

Jayne opened the hatch to his cabin – the door responded to his kick obediently, swinging up into the ceiling to allow him passage. It closed automatically behind him, the sensors determining that he was alone and that no one would be following him inside.

He went to continue fretting, but then he remembered something else the Operative had told him – or rather, given him. The portable memory device.

He checked his clothing and found it nestled in a pocket. He held it in his hand, frowning down on it. This might blow up the ship, or it might not. It might send a warning to every Alliance ship in the sector, telling them where they were. It might…well, truthfully, Jayne had run out of ideas, but whatever it was, it couldn't be good for them.

But Jayne also knew that if he didn't upload this device, then his ribcage would become a gazing aferture, or whatever the Operative had called it. His chest would go boom.

Slowly, he walked to the cortex built into the wall on the far side of his cabin, and slid the storage device into the socket along the side of the terminal. A few moments passed where nothing happened, but then a light started to blink on the small box.

Nothing on the screen changed, except for the bottom right corner. A miniscule alert appeared, in writing Jayne had to squint to read.

_Algorithm 437 activated._

And just as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone. No alarms started to blare, the ship didn't explode, and as far as Jayne was aware, nothing on the ship seemed to change. He released a breath he didn't even realise he was holding. Maybe the device was a dud, meant to test him. Maybe it didn't do anything.

Suddenly the monitor started to flash. A sharp trill blared from it, and Jayne jumped away from the sudden sound. All of his previous concerns flooded back to him – the device really _was_ going to blow them up. He had doomed them all.

After a few seconds he looked at what the cortex was saying, and he relaxed. An incoming wave was all.

_Wait,_ he thought, tensing up again. _A wave? No one is supposed to know we're here._

Hesitatingly, his outstretched finger activated the 'accept wave' zone built into the alert on the monitor. The screen flickered and revealed a woman – the same woman who had tried to kill them back on board that Alliance cruiser. The one that must surely be the female Operative.

"Jayne Cobb," she said. "Do not call out or alert your allies to this transmission. If you collaborate with me, I can ensure that a full pardon and a large monetary recompense will be yours."

While he wished people would stop using big words to make themselves sound clever, Jayne realised all of a sudden that he was in deep in the middle of a very dangerous game – because a game it was, he realised in a moment of rare clarity. Though the stakes were their lives, they were being moved around like pawns in a game of chess, and only one person could truly win.

If this woman _was_ blackmailing the others, then he was the only one aware of her game plan, and the only one who could act against it. And that was only because another of their enemies had forced Jayne into spying for him – and that enemy could also hear every word Jayne said.

Swallowing hard, he opened his mouth. And as he started to speak, for the first time in his life Jayne entered a mind game as a player.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Mal paced along the corridor, seething inwardly. Whatever circumstance had conspired against him, he was being forced to play the move he never wanted to consider; the one place he never wanted to go.

Way back before they had even encountered the crate, he had said 'no' to this particular offer and, upon reflection, had he said 'yes' to it then all of their troubles could have been averted. But even if he had the chance to go back in time and change the decision, he doubted he would take it. The choice had gone against his every moral fibre.

And so he was quite rightly tormented. But right now, he had no moves left to make, except this one. Because otherwise, they would spend eternity wasting away in the Black, and that was as good as losing in Mal's eyes.

He reached his destination and pounded on the door. He tapped his foot impatiently as he heard a crash from within, followed by the stagger of feet against metal decking. The hatch swept open and, bleary eyed and dishevelled, Daniel Andrews squinted at him through a tangle of unkempt hair.

It took him a moment to realise who was standing in his doorway. He straightened as Mal's clenched jaw pierced through his confused state.

"Can I help you?" he mumbled. Mal nodded.

"Yep. I'm here to sign up."

The comment made no sense whatsoever to Andrews. "Huh?"

Mal took Andrews' confusion for the younger man trying to prolong his agony. Heatedly, he continued. "Enlist. Enrol. Join up."

Andrews' eyebrows rose. "So…you're saying that…"

Mal sighed, exasperated. "Yup. You'd better recruit me, 'cause I'm here to join the New Independents."

_A/N:_

_Thanks to MAndrews, rpitrof, ccb and Xcom666 for your reviews.  
_

_Edit: Sorry for the double post, but I thought I'd added the wrong chapter and hastily deleted it, but then realised it was the right one all along and had to just add it again. D'oh._


	16. Day Five: Algorithm 437

**Day Five**

**Algorithm 437**

"Are you serious?" asked Andrews. Mal, his jaw tense, nodded tersely in reply.

"I assume it won't be a problem to arrange?"

Andrews scanned through all of the rules and regulations he could think of off the top of his head, but after a few seconds he stopped. He was standing in front of a hero of Serenity Valley; one of the few who had fought until the bitter end, even after the Independents had officially surrendered to the Alliance. He doubted anyone would be foolish enough to actually stand in the way of Malcolm Reynolds returning to the fold.

He shook his head. "Uh, I don't think so." He ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. "Erm, you kinda caught me while I'm sleeping."

Mal stared stonily at him. "This supposed to be where I offer you an apology?"

"Oh! No, I was just saying, that's why I look a bit…rough." The two men stood in silence for a few moments longer.

"So how are we gonna do this?" asked Mal, cutting to the chase.

Andrews nodded, trying to do business. "Well, normally someone is approached covertly for enrolment, like I was, but in your case…" He eyed Mal as neutrally as possible. "Well, you're not exactly standard, are you? I suppose in that case, well…I guess I should take you to Home Base."

Mal's eyebrow rose. "And where's that?"

"I'm not really supposed to tell you…" said Andrews. Mal kept looking at him expectantly while the younger man moved around his cabin, pulling on a shirt and a pair of boots. Eventually Andrews looked up at Mal and saw his expression. "Sorry. I'm not supposed to tell you, and I'm not going to. I'll take you there, sure. But that's the way we're going to do it."

"You sure you wanna go against me on this one?" threatened Mal, but Andrews looked nonplussed. He shrugged.

"Not a case of wanting, that's the way it is. You can try and change my mind, but I'll warn you that the Operative on board that cruiser took a lot of my time trying to change it for me and he didn't get anywhere. You sure you'd have any more luck?"

After staring each other down for a few more moments, Mal backed away from the door. "Alright. We'll do it your way. Let's go to the cockpit – I'm itchin' to get started."

Minutes later, Mal sat down in the pilot's seat, and Andrews took up position opposite him at the co-pilot's station. Zoe was nowhere to be seen.

"So, where's the first step?" asked Mal.

Andrews started flicking controls on the board in front of him. "There are a lot of procedures we have to follow. We didn't survive this long by having it so just anyone could come right up and knock on our airlock."

Mal narrowed his eyes at the New Independent as he gentle vibration of the engines increase through his feet. "Won't your high command be a little bit annoyed with you for disobeyin' orders?"

Andrews shook his head. "Naw. As far as they know, I was intercepted before I could complete my orders. My ship, the one that has the evidence of me disobeying orders on it, well, the Alliance has that now. So they can't prove anything, can they?"

"You didn't strike me as the kinda guy who'd be so flippant when it comes to orders."

He shrugged. "I used to follow them to the letter. But now…well, seems to me like everyone's gone a little bit crazy. And I got a bit skittish at the thought of doing exactly what a crazy person tells me to do. So I opened up the orders to a little…_interpretation._"

Mal blinked, breaking the spell of listening to Andrews. He reminded himself that he didn't want to hear this man's life story – just for him to take the rest of them to Home Base. Somewhere that Mal didn't particularly want to be in the first place.

"So how far out is this Home Base?" he asked of Andrews.

"It should take us a few hours. I take it you'll be riding shotgun with me, to see I don't fly us into an asteroid?"

"Or a trap, or to the Alliance," confirmed Mal. "Don't get me wrong. I'm grateful for everything that you've done. But I sure as hell don't trust you yet."

_This would be a bad time to tell him that at least one of his crew is being subverted by the Alliance, then, _decided Andrews. _Hey Mal, did you know Simon Tam is being emotionally blackmailed by that bitch Operative? Yeah, she drove his sister into a degenerative coma and won't let her out until he does exactly as commanded. Good times._

Instead, he moved the conversation along. "We have to pass a number of checkpoints before we can approach Home Base itself. There are a number of covert sensor arrays that'll pick up the ship and relay the info back to Base. We have to be extra careful because we're in an Alliance ship."

"What do we have to do at each checkpoint?" asked Mal. Andrews gave him a stony, silent look as a reply. Mal huffed. "Look, I only ask because if it's somethin' to do with movin' the ship, then you're gonna have a tough time of it. This thing is as responsive as a woman givin' you the silent treatment."

"Okay. We have to follow a set pattern of manoeuvres. It's designed so that knowing the route to Home Base is only half of what you need. The other half is knowing how to travel the route. That way we increase the likelihood an enemy ship will be detected trying to sneak up on us."

"Anythin' complicated?"

"Nope. Just pitching and yawing a few degrees. I'm sure even this bucket can manage it."

Satisfied, Mal sat back deeper into the pilot's seat and allowed Andrews full control of the ship. If he tried anything, he would be ready. But for now he would just enjoy the ride.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

The female Operative glared at the cortex screen she sat in front of. The offending instrument was telling her something she didn't know how to interpret properly according to her designs.

"What the hell are you doing…?" she muttered to herself. The course the ship was taking was, at best, erratic. The transport had escaped the orbit of the planet on a bearing that would take it back into the Black, but had then immediately taken another heading that would take them towards the Core. Now Reynolds was headed towards Saint Albans without showing any sign of slowing down.

She sat back in her chair, thinking hard. What could the fugitive be doing? His move to Taurus had been predictable, enabling her to clear the air of Alliance patrols. One of his crew was meant to have happened across her agent, planted carefully in a local bar, who would have pointed Mal towards Beylix. Either Reynolds had done a poor job of trawling for information, or something had gone wrong with her agent.

Her hand danced across a panel of blinking lights, calling up the local bulletins for the capital of Taurus. It took her approximately twenty seconds to encounter the classified report that made her eyes narrow even further. An Alliance officer had been found stuffed into a restroom cubicle at the rear of a local bar just minutes ago.

What was going on? Could Reynolds or one of his crew have seen through her agent's ploy? No, that was close to impossible. The officer was a highly decorated field agent with years of training and experience. If Reynolds ever encountered an undercover Alliance agent, then chances are he would never know about it unless they wanted him to. And stuffing the body in such a public place wasn't Reynolds' style. He would likely abduct the officer and then eject him into space after questioning him. No, this manner of disposal was more akin to…

She called up another display – the surveillance feed of the bar. She scanned forward using the controls, keeping her eyes carefully planted on her officer. One of the telltale signs of him being an undercover agent was that, at an increased rate of feedback, the other patrons were a blur of activity – going to the bathroom, returning to the bar for more drinks, gesturing animatedly talking to their friends – while the agent remained almost perfectly motionless at his table, watching the door.

She paused the playback suddenly. Someone had approached the agent just over two hours before Reynolds had arrived on the planet. Anger almost overcame her calm demeanour that was almost never compromised. Smirking up at the camera was the Rogue – the former Operative who had been assigned to Reynolds' case.

_He wanted me to know,_ she realised. The manner in which he was looking at the camera left no doubt about that. This was a message. That he was still in the game, despite the fact the Alliance had disowned him.

The Operative cursed her own incompetence. She had only allowed for the possibility of an encounter at the bar, and had placed surveillance as such. In such a primitive settlement there was little to no chance of her picking up the presence of the Rogue elsewhere. If he had approached Reynolds or his crew, then the chances were slim to none that it had been recorded on any security feeds.

Suddenly she began to fret. If he _had_ approached any member of the crew, then the chances were high of that crewmember being under his direct influence. But…which one? Calling up another feed – the internal sensor log of the vessel – she deducted that only Reynolds, Cobb and Serra had left the ship for an extended period of time since they had landed. _No, wait…_ she frowned. Zoe had also departed the ship, before Reynolds and the others had returned, for roughly ten minutes. That meant the Rogue could have coerced any of those four.

She immediately ruled out Reynolds, as she doubted he and the Rogue could come to any kind of agreement in such a short space of time. That, and the Rogue would know that her focus lay mainly on Reynolds. If he approached the captain and told him of the plot to subvert his crew, her plan would immediately fall apart at the seams. The fact that he hadn't simply killed all of the fugitives when he had the chance indicated that he wanted to be a part of the game, rather than destroying it, which further eliminated Reynolds.

Serra would not easily be swayed by manipulation; especially the kind utilised by the Rogue. It was likely that he had not approached her, which left either Zoe or Jayne. She had already made contact with both of them, which made it difficult to alter her strategy to account for the Rogue's meddling now.

She pursed her lips. She would have to proceed under the assumption that the Rogue had intercepted both of the errant crewmembers. That, and she would have to speed up the pace of her overall plan.

The cortex blinked to life at her command, sending out a wave that was quickly responded to. Static burst across the screen.

"_What is it?"_ the voice demanded.

"I think we're going to have to pick up the pace of our scheme," said the Operative.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"_You got any ideas?"_

The Operative – known in some circles as the Rogue – paced the length of his small vessel impatiently. The ship was simply a cockpit that connected to a narrow corridor of instrumentation, and at the rear was a cramped living quarters. Beneath him lay a small space that allowed essential engineering work, accessed via a hatch built into the deck of the narrow corridor, though the manufacturer of the vessel claimed it would not malfunction for five years once it had rolled off the production line. Terms and conditions would likely apply to that claim.

They should have been halfway to Beylix by now. His female counterpart's agent had revealed the ultimate destination of the elusive Beka before he had died in that restroom, and he had fed that information to Jayne Cobb after he had planted a bomb in his chest to ensure his co-operation. But for whatever reason Reynolds hadn't taken the bait. Now all he could do was to listen to the inane ramblings of Cobb as he wandered the ship. The distasteful sounds coming from the speakers indicated that he was currently eating.

"_How the hell would I know?"_

The trouble was, the Operative could only hear one side of any given conversation. The device inside Jayne was only sensitive enough to pick up immediate vibrations, so unless someone was in physical contact with the man while they spoke, then the chances were low that the Rogue would be able to hear them speak. Jayne's words themselves were distorted, as though he was listening to the man through a wall.

"_I dunno. We've changed course about a dozen times."_ There was a pause as an organic gurgle slithered from the speakers. The Rogue almost shuddered. He pitied whatever Jayne had just devoured. _"We could end up anywhere."_

The Rogue sighed. He had a choice to make. He could either head to Beylix and try and track down Beka, or follow Reynolds and hope that Jayne would yield some vital piece of information through his conversations.

He made the decision quickly, preferring not to dwell unnecessarily on the point. He would follow Reynolds, because although he knew the woman's name, he had no other information regarding the individual, even her appearance. Though it put him at a slight disadvantage waiting on Jayne, following Reynolds held a higher chance of paying off in the short term.

He sat back in his seat, keeping a close eye on the readouts mounted on the bulkhead in front of him. All he could do now was wait. Hopefully the big ape had already uploaded the computer program he had been supplied with. Then the odds would surely tip in the Rogue's favour.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Jayne was hungrily devouring a stew that Inara had made from ingredients she picked up back on Taurus. Having eaten only ration packs, bad gruel or nothing for nearly a week, a return to something even close to Serenity food was more than welcome. The crew had gravitated to the mess hall like flies around…well, the point was, they had smelled something good and now they were all here, except for the captain and that Andrews guy. And that included the Hunter.

It had evolved from stooping on the deck over a hoard of food to sitting on the far side of the table Jayne was stooped over, and it was glaring at him evilly as it ladled the stew into its ugly mouth.

Possibly for the first time in his life Jayne wished Mal was there with him, in case it tried to jump him again. But it looked as though it was behaving itself, and as long as it had enough Oaty Bars then it seemed to be happy enough. And it seemed to like Inara's stew. Jayne frowned and returned his attention to the discussion at hand.

"I'm sure that Mal has a destination in mind for us," said Inara.

"Instead of talking about it down here," Zoe said quietly, staring at her bowl of stew. "Why don't you just go and ask him?"

"Well gee, that's a great idea, Zoe!" exclaimed Jayne with far too much enthusiasm. The assembled crew gave him odd looks, and Jayne, embarrassed, returned to eating his stew in silence.

Why did becoming someone's confidant have to be so difficult? All he had to do was befriend the others, close enough that they would confide whatever the female Operative was making them do. Then he could go straight to the Male and tell him everything, and then he could get this bomb out of his chest.

"Well…I guess I'll go ask Mal what's going on," said Simon. He struggled to his feet with his crutches, and Inara rushed to his side.

"It's alright Simon, I'll go instead," she said, but Simon shook his head.

"No, you should get to the infirmary. I'll be along shortly to apply your treatments."

Jayne almost grumbled to himself, but then realised that it would attract suspicion. This was going to be harder than he first expected.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

_The opportune moment,_ thought Andrews. _It's deciding when that is._

If he told Mal now that Simon was under the Alliance's influence, he would likely not be believed. If he waited until they reached Home Base then it would be even harder, because he now did not trust high command when it came to Mal and the others. And if he waited until after they left, then it'd be too late – either the Operative's plans might have come to fruition, or Mal would question why he hadn't been approached with the information earlier, making it look like Andrews was retroactively lying.

Maybe there _was_ no opportune moment, he decided. Maybe he would have to let Mal know about Simon in a manner other than directly telling him. But what that might be, Andrews had no idea.

As if thinking about him conjured the man, Simon Tam hobbled into the cockpit. Mal afforded him a glance and a nod, and then returned to keenly watching Andrews pilot the ship. The New Independent almost sighed in bemusement. If only Mal knew which of the two men he should be watching so closely.

"Mal, the others and I were wondering…where are we going?" Simon asked. Straight to the point, noted Andrews.

And thus began an odd game of sorts between the three men. Mal wanted to contain any knowledge he might pass on to Simon in fear that it would get to Jayne, who he rightly assumed was being subverted by the Alliance. However, Andrews only knew that Simon was being subverted, and mistook Mal's hesitance for evidence that Mal knew about Simon. The doctor became cautious for the same reason, however both of the latter men were mistaken in their belief that Mal suspected Simon – and neither knew concretely about Jayne. And of course, Mal held no suspicion whatsoever regarding Simon.

"Uhm," started the captain. "Well, we detected an Alliance ship on our screen. We were evadin' it for a while, but it's gone now."

Andrews forced an expression of perplexity. "What Alliance ship?"

Mal shot a warning glance at Andrews. "Y'know, the Alliance ship that was followin' us. The one from the Alliance?"

"Oh, _right_, yeah," said Andrews, deliberately slowly. He wanted to test how far Mal would stretch lying to Simon, and the look on the doctor's face was worth it. He knew Mal had just lied to him.

"Oh," he said. "And where is it now?"

Mal rushed to reply first. "It stopped chasin' us. We lost it."

Simon's eyes narrowed as he processed the information. "It just gave up?"

"Uh…yeah. Just like that. Lucky, huh?" said Andrews, beating Mal to making a better excuse. He wanted to push Simon as far as he could during this exchange.

"Why would it be chasing us in the first place?" asked the doctor. "Aren't we in an Alliance ship?"

"Yeah…" said Andrews lamely, trailing off without any promise of providing an explanation. Mal glared at him.

"Turns out we were givin' out the wrong transponder signal," said Mal. "When they started chasin' us we got in contact with them and told 'em it was a technical glitch. We're puttin' out the right one now."

"Well…you could've just said that in the first place," said Simon, swallowing. Andrews looked at him stupidly. Let this aristocrat believe he was a low life simpleton. What did he care about what Simon Tam thought about him?

"Yeah. Sorry," he said, returning his concentration to piloting the ship. There was an awkward silence and no one rushed to fill it. Eventually Simon broke under the strain and caved in.

"Well…okay then," he said. "I'll be in the infirmary if you need me."

"Roger that," chimed in Andrews, and the doctor fled from the cockpit. After ensuring Simon had left audible range, Mal turned on the man piloting the ship.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded. Andrews just shrugged.

"I don't know what you mean."

Realising he was giving a little bit too much away, Mal tried to back away from the confrontation, but it was too late.

"Why did you lie to him?" asked Andrews directly. But Mal just huffed.

"Concentrate on flyin' the ship, will ya? It's nothin' you have to worry yourself about."

Smirking, Andrews returned to the task at hand. Something was playing at Malcolm Reynolds' mind, and he was going to find out what it was.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"_So you mean to alter our plan entirely," _stated the distorted voice. It wasn't a question.

The Operative almost fidgeted. "Not entirely. I simply mean to reverse the poles of the events that have to take place in order for the plan to succeed. Initially we required that your objective be fulfilled first, but now we must eliminate the Rogue before he does any more damage. He has already threatened the hold I have over two of Serenity's crew – we can't risk any more fallout from his continued involvement."

"_I was under the impression that the Rogue was not capable of performing such an act of sabotage."_ Though the scrambler removed any and all intonation, the Operative was convinced she could hear the undercurrent of disapproval running through the voice's words. She nodded into the cortex.

"Initially I did think that, but obviously that assessment has to be modified."

There was a pause while the voice assimilated the new information. _"Very well. We will alter the plan, but only because the situation necessitates the amendment. I should warn you that I am not best pleased with this turn of events."_

"I am aware of how you must feel, but it could not be avoided."

"_That depends on your perspective,"_ said the voice, criticising the Operative's ability of detecting any threats to the operation. _"I will make the transmission."_

The cortex blinked off. The Operative felt her cheeks flush. The Rogue had become too much of a problem to remain alive. And he would hurt before he died. She would make sure of that.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Something in the cabin's ceiling whirred, activated by Algorithm 437, and the lights went out, pitching the room into perfect darkness. The whirring continued as the lights were activated and reset to different luminosities, created a perfect vacuum that was filled by a strobing, ever changing illumination.

Dull eyes were bombarded by the apparently random sequence of brightness densities, the artificial radiance piercing the cornea and travelling straight to the victim's brain. Something resonated deep within the human's subconscious, bringing forth hours of training and habituation.

The boy's back arched and a grunt escaped the back of his throat. The piercing beams of light activated dormant conditioning, switching and changing the priorities that had been given to the boy before he had been loaded into the cryogenic crate Mal and Jayne had found him in.

Finally the sequence ended and the lights returned to their normal functioning. The boy remained prostate on his bed for several moments before he gasped, clutching at his face with both hands, clawing away invisible cobwebs that clung to his eye sockets.

He crawled backwards and fell off the bed, but the motion didn't upset his backward retreat. He kept on pushing with his feet to escape whatever it is he could see until his back hit the rear bulkhead. His limbs continued to try and propel him backwards, and it took several moments for him to realise that he was no longer travelling anywhere.

His hands slowly came down from his face, and he slowly looked around the cabin, taking in his surroundings as if for the very first time. Once he established that he was in no immediate danger, the youth stood cautiously, taking a moment to give a perplexed look at his Alliance coveralls. He padded to the door and tried to activate it, but it had been locked from the other side and did not respond to his command.

He took a step backwards into the centre of the room, and turned around in a circle, once again absorbing his surroundings. A frown slowly formed on the boy's forehead, culminating in a single question.

"Where the hell _am_ I?"

_A/N:_

_Sorry it's been so long for an update. I went away and then ran into technical difficulties. There was going to be a really neat (I think so, anyway) fragment of code early on in the chapter that was Algorithm 437, showing exactly what it was doing in a code-like manner, but FF ate it up and spat it back out and there's no way around the code stripper, it seems. Ah well. Thanks to those who reviewed, and I'm back on form now – regular updates should resume from now._


	17. Day Six: Sheridan and Myers

**Day Six**

**Sheridan and Myers**

"How much longer?" asked Mal of Andrews. They had been flying now for hours. The captain checked the chronometer. They had crossed several time zones, but whichever he used to establish the time they had crossed over to the next day. Mal was becoming ever more cautious of the passing time; it had been near enough four days since they had escaped the Alliance on the moon, and he was getting itchy. There should have been _some_ kind of trace that they were being followed, but instead there was nothing. By all rights they should be the most wanted fugitives in the 'verse, but at a glance it appeared they had escaped without consequence. Mal, of course, knew better. Something else was going on.

"We'll be a few more hours yet," said Andrews, still staring intently at the displays mounted inside the cockpit. Occasionally he would pitch the ship at a different angle in order to satisfy the hidden sensor arrays they were being monitored by on their approach to the New Independents' Home Base. Mal stared sideways at him, but the younger man didn't appear to notice the scrutiny. Either that, or he just didn't care.

Mal was having trouble analysing Andrews. When they first encountered each other, across the distance of space through a cortex screen, Mal had written him off as a simple patriot – and if he was being honest, almost as a younger version of himself. But as time had passed, his true personality was leaking through the surface. When they had met in person, Andrews hadn't been in much of a condition to do anything, having just recovered from the torture inflicted upon him by the Operative on board the Project Nightmare cruiser. But there in that cockpit, Mal could see a shrewdness buried beneath the exterior of an apparently simple man.

Andrews looked up and caught Mal staring. The captain coughed and blinked, acting as though his gaze had rested upon Andrews just for that moment. But he suspected the other man would see through the ploy.

Before either of them could speak, an alarm bleated from the front console of the cockpit. Mal sprang into action to address whatever crisis was forming, but his nervous energy was lost when a frown creased across his face. It was the communications array of the ship receiving a message.

Before he could panic, Mal noticed that it was simply a bulletin and not a request for two-way communication. He keyed to accept the transmission, and a message composed of text flashed up on the small monitor in front of him.

_All ships._

_Contact Malcolm Reynolds lost. New objective: Roderick Myers. Consult database for parameters. Seek out target as primary. Further instructions pending._

_End._

Mal frowned at the screen, several thoughts playing through his mind concurrently. First and foremost, the most obvious conclusions leapt to his mind: it was either genuine, or it was a trap.

_Maybe that's why no Alliance ships have been chasin' us_, he thought. _Maybe we just got away clean._ He blinked, dismissing the thought. No. They suffered too badly to just escape from the situation back on the moon. Besides which, this transport should be registered stolen. There was no way the Alliance would simply forget to remove it from their network.

So then, it was a trap. But to what end? If they were trying to make him believe he wasn't being followed, then surely the absence of any ships on their tail would be sufficient to convince him. No – the purpose of this message was to inform him that there was now a higher priority for the Alliance than himself roaming around in space, and that their name was Roderick Myers.

Andrews started to lean across to read the message over Mal's shoulder. "What's it say?" he asked, but Mal deactivated the screen quickly before the other man could make sense of the words.

"Nothin'," he said. "Just an automated report."

Andrews' eyebrow rose. "An automated report? That came through the comms array?"

Mal shot him a glare. "Just fly the ship."

Without a word, Andrews returned to piloting the vessel, leaving Mal along with his thoughts again.

Roderick Myers. A name that meant nothing to Mal. If the information was meant to provoke him somehow, then it hadn't done a very good job. Maybe it _had_ been an error on their end. Why else would they send such a meaningless piece of information to him? It's not like he had any means to research it…

He narrowed his eyes. Come to think of it, he _was_ sitting in an Alliance vessel, the computer core of which should be fully up to date with all of the information available to the Alliance – like the message had said, 'Consult database for parameters.' The only trouble would be accessing it at a high enough level to run a search on an identity database, but Inara might be able to help him hack a username and password. If only River was awake…she would be able to break into the computer core in no time at all.

He flicked a switch and called into the comm for Zoe. The first mate responded to his summons and started heading up towards the cockpit.

If Inara _could_ crack open the identity database, then if luck was with him, Roderick Myers' information would be stored within the locked vaults of knowledge and it would help him understand the reason he had been sent this apparently stray communication.

Zoe emerged behind him, and relieved him of watching Andrews. Heading away from the cockpit, Mal moved to seek out Inara.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

The Companion, at that moment, was walking along the corridor that led to the port cabins past one of the cargo bays.

The size of the ship was hard for Inara to settle to, considering she had spent a lot of her time travelling the stars in a Firefly class transport. She was used to containing her life to the size of a shuttle, and even once she had returned planetside to the training house, she found herself keeping to her old habits and living a relatively Spartan existence, considering the space she might have expanded into in her room.

She hoped fervently that wherever Mal was taking them would work out. For whatever reason he was keeping the information from the rest of them, and though Inara was not okay with that, she was reasonably certain that she could guess where they were headed. After all, Mal would not lightly allow Daniel into the cockpit and control of the vessel. She guessed that he was taking them to a safe haven provided by the New Independents.

Inara reached her destination along the corridor and unlocked the cabin door that would allow her access to the Package. She frowned, shaking her head at the condition they had found the boy in. She had been a firm advocate of Unification, and though she still kept to that belief, there were some things no one should endure. River and the Package proved that, though largely a benevolent influence, the Alliance also had a much darker side to their nature.

The door swept open and she stepped inside. A flurry of activity stopped her in her tracks, her hands rising towards her face in an involuntary defensive reaction.

The boy had scrambled off the bed and away from the door, and he leant against the bulkhead on the far side of the room. Inara was stunned into inaction – she had expected the boy to be catatonic as before, not up and about like this.

His face was scared, and his hands rose up as if to ward away the advance of the Companion. "Stay away from me!" he called out in a wary voice.

Inara managed to rouse enough of her senses to make a proper reply. "Okay – it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

His eyes flashed from her face to the open doorway behind her, as if trying to gauge the possibility of rushing her and making his escape. But he didn't move from the bulkhead. "Why are you keeping me here?" he demanded, outrage leaking into his expression. Inara spread her hands wide, indicating that she wasn't going to harm him, and eased further into the room towards him.

The shock from seeing him active was fading away, and Inara's mental faculties were returning quickly. She had to calm the young man down before she could proceed any further. Then they could figure out why he had suddenly become active.

"Calm down," she said as soothingly as possible. "No one is going to hurt you. We were keeping you here for your own protection."

His eyes hardened. "Yeah, right."

She took another step inside the cabin, her hands still spread. "It's the truth. Think about it. If we really wanted to hurt you, then why aren't you already injured? You're probably confused because you don't remember how you got here. Put the two pieces of information together. In the time you were unconscious, we could have done anything to you. We didn't; thus, we don't want to hurt you."

Doubt crept into his expression, and Inara knew she was getting through to him. She took another step. She was by the bed now.

"Well then where am I?" he asked, the edge fading from his voice.

"You're on an Alliance transport vessel. But we aren't with the Alliance. It's very complicated, and I don't think now is the best time to give you a detailed history of the situation. Why don't you come with me? We can go to the mess hall and get you something to eat. That's why I came here, to see if you need anything. Do you? Need anything?"

The sudden change to her offering her services threw him further off balance. He shifted sideways, trying to look outside into the corridor. Inara sent a silent prayer that Oaty wouldn't by incredible coincidence happen upon this cabin now. Then she would lose him. The boy edged away from the bulkhead, the temptation of food drawing him closer to the Companion.

"The mess hall?" he asked, and Inara knew she had him. She smiled gently and stepped sideways, leaving the way clear for him to leave the cabin.

"Yes. Are you interested?"

He kept to the far side of the cabin, but his weight was shifting forwards. Inara tried to gauge how long it had been since she had last brought food to him, and realised it must have been at least six hours. She would be at least peckish if she had been that long without any food.

"I promise you, no one is going to hurt you. I'll explain _everything_ while we eat."

That seemed to seal it for the boy. He took a full step forward and came to the side of the Companion, who gave him her best reassuring smile.

"What's your name?" she asked. He blinked as if the thought hadn't occurred to him.

"You don't know my name?"

"We don't know anything about you," she said. "If we at least know your name it might make it easier figuring out how you got here."

"Sheridan," he said. "Cullen Sheridan."

"Well then, Cullen," she said. "My name is Inara Serra. Pleased to meet you. Shall we?" She extended her arm towards the door, and he regarded it suspiciously.

"After you," he said dubiously. She laughed and nodded.

"Of course, how silly of me. You don't entirely trust me yet."

"Well – it's not that," he said, unaware that Inara was probing his state of mind. She interrupted him.

"No, you're absolutely right to insist. Here, I'll go first." She exited the cabin and turned to regard him from inside the corridor. "You see? Nothing here."

He moved to join her slowly, his eyes casting all about him. It seemed that he genuinely didn't remember anything before he was put inside the cabin. He was acting appropriately if this ship was a new environment to him.

She gestured down the corridor. "The mess hall is this way." She started to walk and within moments he was hurrying to catch up to her. She almost felt guilty manipulating him in such a way, but he was still an unknown element in all of this. The more he trusted her, the more they could find out about him and ascertain exactly what was going on. Though they had just met – from his perspective, at least – Inara had engineered their exchange to increase his reliance on her, despite the fact that, by all rights, he could have stayed in that cabin and refused to move.

"So we're on an Alliance ship, but you're not with the Alliance," he said, more of a statement than a question. Inara nodded.

"Yes, but like I said, it's complicated. How much do you remember about everything? I mean, do you know what the Alliance is? And where we are?"

"Yes. I mean, I remember pretty much everything except how I got here. I remember going to bed one evening, and then…here I am."

"Where do you live?"

He started to talk but then narrowed his eyes at her, apparently remembering where he was. "Why don't we talk about me later? I still think you're holding me prisoner, remember?"

She smirked, but the smile faded from her face as they rounded a corner and came face to face with Mal, who was walking towards them from the direction of the cockpit. They stopped in their tracks – Mal's face going slack and Inara's widening in that moment between realisation and action. Inara called Mal's name just as his hand flashed to his side, drawing his pistol, but Cullen was too fast for him. Moving so fast it had to be reflex, he had stepped forward, closing the gap between the Captain and himself. His hand closed around Mal's wrist and wrenched it sideways. With a grunt of pain, Mal found that his hand had smashed into the bulkhead, releasing the grip he had on his pistol. It clattered to the ground.

Mal raised his free fist to punch the boy, but Cullen's other hand closed around Mal's neck. One of his feet snaked behind Mal's leg and with a shove from their guest, Mal was flat on his back on the decking.

Cullen's right fist rose into the air, ready to fall with gravity and smash into Mal's nose, but Inara was there. She grabbed Cullen's arm and stopped the momentum of his attack.

"Stop it, both of you!" she called in her best authoritative voice. She seemed to break the spell possessing both of the men, and the fight eased out of them. Her hand tugged at Cullen's shoulder, and the boy took the hint and stood away from the Captain. He offered his hand to Mal, who took a firm grip of it, and Cullen lifted him from the ground. Mal gave him a wary glance and then directed his attention towards Inara.

"Care to explain what's goin' on?" he asked, and Cullen snorted.

"I guess there's a lot of that going on around here," he commented. Inara eased between them lest violence break out again.

"I was just taking Cullen here to the mess hall," she said. "Why don't you come with us and we can explain everything then?"

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

As Inara relayed most of what had happened during the last two weeks – though carefully avoiding how they had happened upon the Cullen – Mal sat studying the young man they had found in the starboard docking bay. It had been a shock to go from regarding a catatonic youth to the being who now sat in the mess hall, but Mal felt he had adjusted quickly. All he could think was that the boy waking up had something to do with the supposedly errant transmission they had just received. His first thought had been that the youth was the infamous Roderick Myers, but according to him his name was Cullen Sheridan. Perhaps he was telling the truth – then again, he probably wasn't.

He gave a small sigh. The lad was another element in an already complicated equation. He was starting to feel his brain shut down against the constant torrent of possible misinformation and second-guessing that was going on. He would never have thought it was possible, but he was starting to miss the simplicity of a week ago – when everything was as it appeared, and all he had to do was punch it in the face or shoot at it until the problem went away.

He shook his head, blinking to snap himself out of it. This was how it was, and he had to deal with it. No use feeling sorry for himself. Bringing himself back to the present, he continued regarding the boy sat opposite he and Inara.

He was the kid in school who did everything right. He sat with the same air Simon had displayed when the doctor had first come aboard – barely concealed arrogance – and Mal guessed that they shared a similar background. While his time out on the fringe had softened some of Simon's harsh social edges, this boy was clearly from money and had all of the bells and whistles inherent to that particular condition. Having said that, he was still a youth, and acted appropriately. There was the naiveté that was natural in a person his age, and an evident affability to his nature that Simon had never displayed until recently, and his diction wasn't as precise as the doctor's – a few colloquialisms slipped in to his speech here and there.

Mal smiled to himself, following his recent train of thought back again. He had to stop comparing Cullen to Simon. There was his built-in disdain for the upper classes acting again. Though they both came from money, and therefore had never had to truly try for anything in their pampered lives – and he was in no way bitter about the whole thing – they were still different people. It would be like Simon comparing Jayne to Mal as if there was some correlation between them because they shared a similar economical background. And Simon had proven himself to be a stand up guy since he had joined the Serenity, so there was no real justification for the way Mal thought. But of course, that didn't stop him from thinking it.

The smile faded from his face as an almost physical sensation of pain hit his gut. Serenity. He had almost succeeded in burying his memories of the ship in the back of his mind, but the passing mention of her name had brought it all back. His mind failed him when it came to quantifying the loss he held in his heart. It would have hurt less if that alien creature had reached into his body and ripped out whatever it could grab hold of.

That was accurate enough, he decided. Something _had_ been ripped out from inside of him, and though he didn't need it to digest his food or pump blood around his body, it held some inimitable property – some function that needed to be fulfilled – and now that it was gone his entire being was lurching along, bleeding from a wound that Simon couldn't patch up for him. What was worse was that he knew nothing could ever heal him from such an injury – that he would continue being less than whole for the rest of his life. He knew that because he had experienced the exact same thing before he had even laid eyes on the Firefly – in fact, the same event that gave the small transport its name.

He blinked the tears that welled in his eyes away, and looked up to see Inara and Cullen looking expectantly at him. He must have looked appropriately perplexed because Inara barely restrained a sigh and repeated what had just been said.

"How tall would you say Oaty is?"

Mal cleared his throat and tried to re-suppress the emotion that clouded his thoughts, instead summoning his memories of the strange creatures they had encountered back on the moon. They should probably look for its official name, instead of calling it 'the moon' all of the time. "Oh, maybe…eight, eight and a half feet? Very tall."

Cullen's eyes had widened. "And it's an alien?"

Inara tried to shrug off the label. "We don't know what it is, but appears to be intelligent and not human. In the proper context I suppose we are aliens too, as we aren't native to this system."

"Yes, but…not to the same extent as this creature you are describing." His eyes became vacant for a moment, and then he returned to the room. "Can I see it?" he asked excitedly.

"That's probably not a good idea," said Inara. "But that's about all for our story. We've been drifting in space ever since, without direction."

"Hey, we've got a direction," said Mal indignantly, and then remembered he shouldn't be talking about it in case word got back to Jayne. The mercenary hadn't been acting much out of character since they'd returned from Taurus, but he didn't want to take any chances. Then he recalled the reason he had happened upon Inara and Cullen in the first place. "That reminds me, I need to borrow your expertise – the stuff outside of the bedroom, that is."

Inara arched an eyebrow at Mal, and Cullen directed a questioning look at the pair. She turned to address him. "I'm a Companion."

Cullen's eyes went wide and a stupid grin spread across his face. "_Really._"

"You couldn't afford me, child," she said primly.

"I could _too,_" he blustered. "How much?"

"Tact ain't your strong suit, is it, kid?" asked Mal, and Inara frowned at him.

"And it's yours?" she asked pointedly.

"Well…no, but obviously I'm too far gone to salvage," he said deprecatingly. "Maybe we can stem the growth of the bad habit in the kid before it's too late."

"I'm not a kid, I'm nineteen years old," said Cullen indignantly. "And besides, it's not like I wouldn't know what to do with you," he said to Inara, slipping into a mode of address that Mal didn't much take to. It was as though now that sex had entered the equation, Inara had become an object rather than a person – perhaps reflecting the nature of Cullen's nocturnal habits. "Maybe I could even teach you a thing or two."

Inara laughed, finding the comment genuinely amusing. "I doubt that."

"You never know until you try."

"I imagine there's not a lot Inara hasn't tried," said Mal slyly. Inara's eyes found the ceiling as they rolled.

"As both of you seem to have forgotten – or maybe you were never aware of it in the first place – a Companion's job is to provide intimacy for their clients," she said, repeating the point to Mal for the thousandth time. "It's not all about raw sexual prowess."

"But it helps," said Cullen, leaning forward with eyes filled with confidence. "Maybe we could just forget about the intimacy part and explore our respective prowess."

"Oh really," said Mal. "What kind of prowess would a nineteen year old boy have, junior?"

Cullen sat back in his seat, fielding the question with ease. "My father paid for my first Companion when I was fifteen years old. I've been steadily building my…repertoire…ever since."

Mal whistled. "Fifteen? Ain't that a little young, 'Nara?"

The Companion's eyes had narrowed. "Yes. I hope the Companion you lay with was reprimanded appropriately for her actions."

"If lyin' with junior here wasn't reprimand enough," smirked Mal. Cullen huffed indignantly.

"I'll have you know that my youth just fuels my energy."

Mal chuckled. "I'll bet your reputation precedes you back home, don't it?"

Cullen grinned, basking in his own glory. "You could say that. Our visits to Londinium are the best. Often we'll take weeklong trips to the planet. They never know what's hit them."

"That you and your friends?"

"Yes. It's a two hour shuttle ride from where we all live…" He trailed off suddenly, clamming up. He fixed Mal and Inara with a cautious stare. "Very clever."

"I'd like to think so," said Mal, smirking. He turned to Inara, feeling smug that he had outwitted the arrogant youngster into revealing facts about his life. "What's more impressive is we didn't even have to co-ordinate our efforts. It all just flowed naturally."

"Impressive? I'd say it was more frightening that we're operating on a closer mental level to each other."

"Why are you holding me here?" asked Cullen in a small voice. Mal waved a hand at the young man, dismissing the question.

"C'mon, kid. Why would we be probing you for information if we'd kidnapped you? We're as puzzled as you are as to how you ended up on this bucket."

"So you keep saying."

"Look. Help us out. We can't figure any of that stuff out 'til you let us know what you know. Then we can put together the pieces and work something out. Now, I'm guessing that you live on Coria, as that's two hours from Londinium on a charter shuttle. What else can you tell us?"

Cullen shifted in his seat and glared at the man and the woman opposite him. After a few moments of enduring his silence, Inara leaned forward towards him, her hands spread imploringly.

"Please, Cullen. If nothing else, we've been honest with you about all of this. You're obviously an intelligent person. Put the pieces together – it just doesn't make sense that we would be trying to hurt you if we were acting this way. Try and work this out with us."

He finally relented, some of the tension going out of his shoulders. "Fine. Alright. I'll try."

Mal nodded approvingly. "Good. Now, tell us about yourself. Where you live, where you went to school…all of it."

Cullen shrugged. "I'm an ordinary person, I suppose. Well, that's not strictly true. I'm something of a prodigy." Said so offhandedly, Mal had to suppress a smile. "I'm not the cleverest person ever to have lived, but growing up I was the one in school who excelled at everything. I competed in the system wide championships, and even won one, in tennis. My parents always provided well for me, so you could say that I never wanted for anything, although I was never ruthlessly pampered like others of a similar background.

"I performed admirably in school, and as a result I was put forward to enter an educational program for accelerated learners. It's funny, because my birthday fell on the same day as the semester began, so I was almost deferred to start the next year. With some rushed negotiations I could start that year – the Companion I mentioned earlier was my going away present, so to speak. You'd expect being a year older to make you a target for the other children, but they simply viewed me as a sort of leader who…"

Inara interrupted Cullen's narrative. "I'm sorry. You mentioned that it was an educational program for…accelerated learners?"

"Yes, a very challenging institution. No one my family spoke to had heard of it, but the program it offered was so innovative that, after he saw it, my father wouldn't hear of me applying anywhere else." He cocked his head to the side, as if he was remembering something demanding. "There was a lot of pressure on me to gain entry to the program, but I succeeded in the end."

"A government sponsored academy, by any chance?" asked Mal, almost negligently. Cullen nodded.

"Yes. Well anyway, I graduated last year and I've lived on Coria…"

"Wait a minute. Is that it?" interrupted Mal. "What about what happened to you at that academy?"

An odd thing happened. Cullen tilted his head slightly to the side and blinked twice in rapid succession, his face going completely blank for that split second. Then the emotion returned to his face and he started to talk.

"At the academy? It was fabulous. Best years of my life. They were strict, but they never mistreated us. I learned a lot about myself in those years, and of other subjects, of course. There was a great spirit of community among us. I feel as though I could run into a complete stranger and know intuitively if they attended the same school." He gave a small laugh. "Silly, I know. But some things run deeper than blood, I suppose."

"Yes they do," said Mal quietly. He exchanged a look with Inara, all of the affability gone from their faces. Before Cullen could question their sudden change in attitude, Inara began to speak again.

"Maybe that's enough for now. We can run what you've told us through the Alliance computer here, and we can see where things go from there."

"Hang on just a moment," said Cullen. "You've missed out the most important part about this whole situation. Namely, how I got here in the first place."

"Ah yes," said Inara, suddenly finding the table an interesting place to look. "Well, to be honest that's why it would be best to look in the computer. Because it would seem that the Alliance are the ones responsible for putting you here."

"This here ship is stolen," said Mal bluntly. "And you were already on it inside a cryogenic chamber. We found you in one of the cargo bays."

Cullen's face had screwed up in confusion. "What? That's ridiculous. What _possible_ reason would the government have to kidnap me, of all people, and put me in a cryo chamber on one of their troop transports?"

Mal managed to smile at the younger man. "Well, that's the question of the hour, ain't it? You'll know as soon as we do." He turned back to Inara. "Speakin' of which, we might have a problem lookin' through the Alliance computers. Any data they have on Cullen is likely to be classified, and we don't have that kind of access to the system. Think you're up to cookin' up some techno wizardry and crackin' open their encryption?"

Inara nodded. "I can try."

"That's all I ask."

They stood to leave, but Cullen raised a hand that stopped them. "I'm sorry, did you say you needed someone to break the encryption on a database?" Mal nodded. "Well it just so happens that my major at the academy was computer science. Maybe I can help you?"

"And why would you want to do that?" asked Mal, his face impassive.

"Well…because they sooner you get into the database, the sooner I can learn what I'm doing here. Right?"

"Right," said Inara. She looked to Mal for permission. "I don't suppose it could hurt to try…?" she asked tentatively.

"No," said Mal, his face still expressionless. "I suppose not. Well, c'mon the pair of you. We don't have all day."

He turned and started to walk out of the mess hall, hoping that the movement would still the shiver that had worked its way up his spine. Quite the coincidence – he had received a stray transmission requiring that he consult the Alliance database, and at exactly the same time the Package had woken up with the skills that would allow him access to the computers. What the hell was going on around here? And what else was this young man programmed to do? He had seen the kid's face as he had attacked Mal in the corridor when they first encountered each other. It wasn't full of anger or even surprise. Those were visceral, familiar emotions that he could deal with. No, the kid's face had been vacant, drawing from some unconscious reservoir of instinctual knowledge that he must consult when his programming took over.

Exactly the same way River did. They came from the same academy. The only question was what exactly Cullen Sheridan had been sent there to do.

Hopefully Mal could figure it out before he found himself dead.

_A/N:_

_I just read this over and realised it was quite dull, but it's all necessary. Thanks to those who reviewed._


	18. Day Six: Strangers in the Night

**Day Six**

**Strangers in the Night**

"So can you do it?" asked Inara, peering over Cullen's shoulder so she could see the terminal he sat at. The young man nodded assuredly, starting to key into the computer rapidly.

"Of course I can. I graduated third in my class in this subject. It might take a little time, but I'm sure it won't provide much of a challenge. As soon as we graduated, the Alliance employed a number of my classmates to write this operating system, and since the two people ranked above me had no part in its construction then theoretically I shouldn't have a problem…" The terminal beeped, and he frowned at it. Mal shot him an amused glance.

"Third, y'say? I guess even the best run into problems."

"It's done," said Cullen.

"What?" asked Inara, and Mal squinted at the screen, although it was all gibberish to his eyes.

Cullen shrugged. "It's finished. I've never done it that fast before…I guess I _am_ that good." He smiled then; taking the credit for his work after the surprise had faded away. "I mean, I always knew, but…"

Mal tapped him out of the way, interrupting his self-congratulatory monologue. The boy vacated the seat and the Captain slid into it.

"Rod…er…ick…" said Inara, reading out what Mal started to type into the terminal. She frowned. "What about looking into Cullen's history?"

"I'll do that in a second," said Mal distractedly. He began to leaf through the search results as Inara gave a placating look to Cullen, smiling at the boy reassuringly.

"Don't worry. We'll get right on it," she assured him. He did not look convinced.

"What I don't understand is how it took such a small amount of time to break the database," the Package said. "If I didn't know it was a secure Alliance archive on one of their troop transports, I'd say that the encryption method was amateur at best." He thought about it a second longer. "Then again, I _did _receive the best education available in the system. Maybe I'm just that much better than my peers. My tutor, Mr Ferro, said that we were being taught the latest in encryption technology that was available at the time. He said…"

"He's dead," said Mal.

"Who? Cullen's tutor?" Inara frowned.

"No. Roderick Myers. He's been dead for twelve years."

"Who is…Roderick Myers?" asked Cullen. Mal dismissed the question by standing away from the terminal.

"No one. Why dontcha start lookin' for any info they have on Cullen in there?" he said to Inara. As the Companion took the seat at the terminal, he allowed his thoughts to consume him.

Why would the Alliance send him the name of a man who had been dead for twelve years? And if it was true what they had said, that they were actively seeking Myers, then their intelligence was a little lacking.

He shot a look at the back of Cullen's head. At first he had been suspicious about the boy's sudden revival occurring at exactly the same time as he had received the transmission. After all, he was an expert in computer encryption and the transmission required that Mal hack into the Alliance database. However, as the Package had said, the encryption protecting the database was laughably pathetic. That increased the chances that the boy was a part of something else entirely – that the database's encryption had been weakened so that he or Inara or one of the others was capable of accessing it. That meant he had to worry more about Cullen, because now his purpose there became more ambiguous, but in a way he was reassured. Maybe the boy wasn't as great a threat as Mal had first assumed.

But that left the question of what the Alliance wanted by sending him the name of a dead man. According to his personnel file, Roderick Myers had worked for the Alliance Intelligence Service until his death thirty years ago. He had left no family behind, and most of his file had been purged on account of his occupation, including any images of the man. The only interesting thing was an address on Londinium that was supposedly his last place of residence. But that was doubtlessly a trap, because if it were true then someone else would have been living there for the past thirty years.

He shook his head slightly, tired from analysing all of that information. He returned to the present and glanced over at Inara and Cullen, who sat poring through the information on the terminal screen.

"Anything?" Mal asked, wandering over. Cullen looked up at him, shaking his head.

"Nothing new. Everything we've found so far is exactly as I told you in the mess hall. Nothing to indicate why the Alliance would be interested in kidnapping me."

Mal nodded. That was about as much as he had expected. The thing he was more interested to learn was why it had been so easy to learn about Myers but that there was nothing incriminating on the system about Sheridan. He remained convinced that he was missing something about both of them.

An alarm bleated on the terminal to signify that there was an internal communication waiting to be responded to. Inara keyed the switch that would answer it. Zoe's voice floated from the speakers.

"Andrews says we're close to his base," she said. Mal nodded and started to walk away from the console, indicating that Inara stay with Cullen. He was sure she would take care of him accordingly.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"That it?" he asked upon entering the cockpit. Andrews nodded at Mal as he continued altering the approach vector of the transport they were flying in.

"That's it," he confirmed. A large asteroid hung in the forward port of the cockpit, surrounded by large shards of rock that spun slowly in the gravity of the object. Mal squinted at it, trying to make out where they might access the hidden base of the New Independents. He couldn't immediately notice anything.

"…Are you sure?" he asked. Andrews shot him a harsh look.

"Yes. It might not look like much, but that's kinda the point. There are some docking bays on the dark side."

"Don't you run into trouble with all the debris hangin' around out there?"

"Not really. We don't recruit idiots into the movement, and everyone but an idiot can manage to navigate a bunch of rocks."

Mal bit back one of his infamous comments and remained silent. Distracting their temporary pilot might end in some kind of explosion, and Mal didn't really want to have one of those on his hands. Not yet, anyway.

"Do we have to communicate with 'em?" he asked. "You said approachin' the base was part of the process, but we _are_ in an Alliance boat."

The New Independent shook his head. "Naw. Shouldn't be necessary. Though we'll likely have a large welcoming committee when we land. This ship is largely unarmed, so it's not much of a threat until we actually land and pop open the hatch."

"Good enough. How long should we take?"

"Five minutes to make the approach, and another five to access the bay."

"Zoe, make an announcement when we're about to touch down and then bring our boy here down to the unloading bay to meet with our generous hosts." He turned to exit the cockpit, but Zoe's voice stopped him.

"Where are you going?"

He turned to address her. "To make sure Oaty doesn't make mincemeat out of any visitors we get."

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"Now," said Mal cautiously. "_You_ stay _here_." He pointed at Oaty, and then to the deck. "_I'm_ gonna go _off the ship_." He pointed to himself and then off into the distance. "Okay?"

The Hunter directed a dangerous look at the Captain, and Mal wasn't sure if it meant he was getting through to the creature or was just provoking it. He gave a helpless look to Simon, who had accompanied him, who could only shrug.

"I'm not sure he understands you," said the doctor. Mal sighed and returned his gaze to the being crouched in the corner of one of the smaller docking bays. This was the first time he had seen its den, and though he and Jayne had searched for it fruitlessly a couple of days earlier, he only had to follow his nose once he reached the lower reaches of the ship. The foul smell was later revealed to the two men to be the decaying remains of the Hunter Oaty had vanquished back on the moon they had been exiled on. Its severed head and spine had been mounted on one of the bulkheads by a spare steel bolt, and Mal had to marvel at the creature's strength again. To penetrate the bulkhead with such an instrument was further demonstration of Oaty's awesome might. Though the grisly ornament was more than a bit icky.

"We could seal him in here," suggested Mal.

"I don't think that's a very good idea," said Simon slowly.

"Why?"

"Well, because it might make him angry. And if he's strong enough to break the seal, then we would be the first thing he would come looking for."

"What I don't understand is why he's so obedient to me," said Mal in perplexity. "What'd _I_ do?"

Simon pursed his lips. "I might be wrong, so don't take this explanation as a given. But I think that when you killed his last remaining pack member, you unofficially adopted him into your pack. That is, us."

"But I didn't kill his pack member."

"From what you told me about our escape, it sounds like you did. While Oaty was the one to deliver the killing blow, you allowed him the victory by shooting his adversary and distracting it. Thus, Oaty has the trophy of his kill, and you have his obedience."

"That's a mighty leap in logic, Doctor."

"Not really. What other explanation is there? He hasn't eaten the remains of his kill, and if it meant nothing he wouldn't have taken the skull and spine in the first place. The fact that it's displayed so prominently in what looks like his living habitat indicates that it is a trophy of the event."

"And you're saying he's a member of…my pack, now?"

Simon nodded. "It would seem that way. He was the only survivor of his pack that we saw, and he has shown submission to you since his time here. I'm sure that eventually he will challenge you for leadership of the pack, but maybe he hasn't yet because we all confuse him. I'm sure we aren't like any pack he will have encountered before now."

Mal shook his head. "That's interesting and all, but it doesn't explain what we're gonna do with him now." He sighed, analysing the creature who still crouched before them, unmoving and unblinking. "I don't think there's anythin' for it. We'll lock him in here and hope that he understands that I want him to stay put."

He kicked the box he had carried from the mess hall further into the cargo bay.

"I'm not sure it's healthy for him to be eating Oaty Bars exclusively," commented Simon of the contents of the box, mildly disapprovingly. "If I knew more about his physiology I could suggest a better diet."

"Now seems the perfect time to be learning more about his species," suggested Mal, and Simon directed an incredulous look in the Captain's direction.

"Do _you_ want to take him to the infirmary and try to conduct tests on him?" he asked pointedly. Mal conceded.

"I guess not. Well, either he understood me, or we'll know about it soon." He indicated that Simon exit the cargo bay, and after the doctor had hobbled out on his crutches he stepped out of the room. Oaty was still directing that unnerving glare at him, and the expression was the last he saw of the creature before the hatch swung closed.

As he was locking the bay, Zoe's voice was broadcast over the ship announcing their imminent arrival at Home Base as the deck vibrated beneath their feet, indicating they had set down. Mal started to walk in the direction of the unloading bay, and Simon kept pace beside him.

"The New Independents, hmm? I thought you were fundamentally opposed to their organisation and everything they do," observed Simon.

"Oh, I am," said Mal. "But you know how that old saying goes. The enemy of my enemy…"

"Well don't count on them to hold out on their end of any agreement you make," said Simon, ducking under a particularly low doorway in the corridor. "Remember that a week ago they tried to kill all of us just to get their hands on that crate we were carrying. I'd hardly say they were trustworthy."

"Who said anythin' about trust?" asked Mal. "We just need a place to lay low for a couple of days, try and figure out what we're gonna do 'bout this whole mess."

"You mean the famous Malcolm Reynolds, Lord and Master of breaking free of trouble, has sought out a plan and found himself lacking?"

"C'mon, Doc. No one's perfect. But if you must know, I do have a plan. It's just lackin' a few details as of this moment."

"Ah, I suspected as much. Always scheming – that's the Mal I've come to know."

Mal's eyebrow rose. "Scheming? Doctor, I'm hurt."

The two men entered the unloading bay just ahead of Zoe and Andrews. Inara and Jayne were already present in the room. Mal nodded a greeting to his assembled crew.

"Don't expect anyone to be too happy to see us, but don't give anyone an excuse to ask us to vacate the premises. Now I'm not namin' names. Jayne. But I need everyone's best behaviour. Got it?"

Jayne muttered something under his breath, and the others indicated that they understood Mal's instructions. He waved to Zoe who stood by the exit to the ship, and she keyed the control that would lower the disembarking ramp. The hatch popped open with a hiss of air, and the first mate withdrew to the relative collective safety of her crew.

Harsh light flooded in through the expanding gap of the exit, and Mal had to shield his eyes with his hand against its intensity. In that moment of weakness, a dozen sets of feet started to march up the ramp as it hit the surface of Home Base to surround them.

"_No sudden movements,"_ warned a mechanical, androgynous voice from beyond the ship. The newcomers to the ship moved forward and removed the weapons from the crew's holsters, and Andrews was jostled forward and off the ship ahead of them. Mal spread his arms to indicate that he wouldn't offer any resistance, and once he had been patted down again the hands withdrew back to the ramp of the vessel.

"We're not here for trouble," announced Mal, hoping to appeal to the one in charge of the force beyond the ship. Silence greeted his words. After a few moments he tried again. "Look, 'stead of us just standin' around here, why don't we all go somewhere more comfortable and have a good old fashioned chinwag? We ain't gonna cause any trouble if you aren't, so let's just skip this whole mistrust thing and go to the next stage?"

After a few more moments of silence the floodlight snapped off, revealing the view beyond the ship. Several dozen soldiers lay scattered before the exit hatch with their weapons casually aimed at the assembled crew. A man in an officer's uniform stood among them. He carried no weapon and Andrews stood beside him, speaking urgently into his ear. After a tense moment the officer waved off the soldiers and they retreated to a more reasonable distance from the ship.

"Captain Reynolds," called the officer. "Your words are reassuring to me, because we have no desire to cause trouble; especially with a hero of Serenity Valley. You and your crew are free to disembark – in a slow and careful manner, of course. You will encounter no unwarranted resistance from us."

Mal nodded reassuringly to the people stood around him, and he was the first to step off the Alliance ship and onto the ground of Home Base.

Once his vision was unimpaired by the presence of the bulkheads of the ship, he could take in the impressive view of the New Independent base. They stood in what essentially amounted to a large cavern, but skilful engineering work had converted the natural formation of rock into a fully functioning hangar bay. They stood roughly in the centre of a vertical shaft of free space that expanded fifty metres in every direction. Above them was the shaft that fed up through the asteroid, and lining the sides of the tunnel were squadrons of fighters that, when released, would fall with gravity to the platform. Once they achieved this state, another passage fed out horizontally to an enormous airlock that presumably allowed access to the vacuum of space beyond it. Larger vessels such as the troop transport they had until recently occupied could land on the platform they stood on, and far above them Mal could make out another platform in the distance. He assumed that there was a similar hangar bay sitting above them, and that might mean there was yet another beneath his feet.

Above all else he was surprised at the magnitude of the New Independent's operation. When Andrews had spoken of their Home Base, he envisioned a field on a backwater planet with a few friendly mechanics servicing a scant few vessels. This proved to him that the movement Andrews, Jacob and Harvey belonged to had a scope beyond his reckoning, and despite himself a newfound respect for these people surfaced within him. The first Independent army he had volunteered for was a valid entity, with no need for sneaking around space like terrorists. These New Independents had accumulated this power under the nose of the Alliance, and the set up of the base did much to change Mal's point of view towards the group.

A terrorist cell would operate with a few members operating in secrecy to other cells, and would typically be a group of citizens working from an apartment in a city, making home made explosives and blowing up coffee shops. This was a completely different operation. This indicated the presence of a centralised command structure of officers, supported by a network of pilots, engineers and troops. In other words, a force that went considerably beyond the typical portrayal of a terrorist organisation.

The man standing next to Andrews waved them forward, and Mal started to close the gap between them. Already some of the gathered troops were beginning to disperse, and Mal scrutinised them as he passed by. Similar to the Independents he had belonged to, the volunteers had no strict uniform. Men and women wore all manner of garments accompanied by similarly varied armaments, however Mal noticed a few of the trademark brown coats that had been distributed back when he had fought in the war. He could only assume there were a few veterans among the other recruits.

A quick check over his shoulder revealed the others were coming along behind him unimpeded, and then he had reached the officer. The man extended a hand and after a moment Mal grasped it with his own.

"Major Stanley Graham," he said, enveloping Mal's hand in an iron grip and squeezing. He lifted the handshake up, snapped it back down and then released the new arrival's hand. Mal's first thought was that the New Independent officer was trying to intimidate him through the minute display of force, but he didn't detect any aggression in the man's face. He determined that his manner was more a symptom of his personality – no nonsense, precise and solidly reliable. Before he could even help it he found himself respecting the Major.

"Malcolm Reynolds," he said to return the greeting. "But I guess you already knew that."

"That's correct." Graham had a voice of steel and a jaw line to match. It was like his body had been sculpted from lead and then given life. His face looked as though it had never smiled, and his cold blue eyes, set below a short-cropped bristle of grey hair, seemed as though they saw everything that happened before them; that nothing could get past this man. "I apologise for the manner of your welcome, but I'm sure you understand that we have to take every precaution. These are troubled times."

"You're not wrong," replied Mal. "Well, uh…I guess we should sit down and hammer this thing out?"

Andrews put himself forward. "Captain Reynolds has expressed his desire that we formalise our relationship. I assumed that we might follow the regular procedures of recruiting former Independent officers back into the fold."

Graham's expression revealed nothing. "Not a bad assumption, Captain Andrews. However, I think we all know that this situation is a little more complicated than that. If you'll follow me, Captain Reynolds, we can retire to a more secure location to discuss the matter. Your crew will be taken care of in your absence."

Mal cast an uneasy glance back at his crew. "Taken care of…how?"

"They will have limited access to our facilities here. The mess hall, the barracks and the recreational quarters will all be available. Captain Andrews will personally see to their wellbeing."

"And personally accountable, I hope," said Mal, narrowing his eyes at Andrews.

"Actually Major…I was hoping to sit in on the negotiations with Captain Reynolds," said Andrews slowly. Graham's eyebrow rose a fraction of a centimetre.

"Were you now? I'm afraid I have to make void your hopes, Captain. You have your orders."

Andrews backed away from the confrontation, nodding feebly. He gestured that the others follow him, but all of their eyes were on Mal. Zoe stepped forward and muttered to the Captain.

"I don't like this. Sir," she said.

"I don't have much fondness for the situation either," he replied. He chewed at his bottom lip for a moment, and then nodded, reaching a decision in his head. "Go with Andrews. It'll be okay. If they were gonna try anything, they'd have already done it."

"Okay," she muttered. "But let the record state that I said this was a bad idea right from the beginning."

She joined Andrews, and following her example, the others fell in behind her. Andrews started to lead them away from the hangar deck, and that was when Graham motioned that Mal join him. The two men started to walk away in the opposite direction, towards a checkpoint carved into the rock of the asteroid.

"Impressive set up you got here," commented Mal.

"Thank you," replied the Major. "It wasn't easy to construct such a large scale operation so close to the system, but the background radiation from the asteroid field hides us from any long range scans the Alliance might carry out. And this far out, accidents happen. If any ships come too close, we have a series of deterrents available."

Graham waved away the soldiers gathered at the checkpoint, and they passed through it unmolested. The cavernous hangar bay gave way to a corridor tunnelled through the asteroid. Lights hung from the ceiling at regular intervals, and the only comfort the passage provided was a steel walkway built into the floor.

"I take it that you understand it won't be as simple as signing up," said Graham after a pregnant pause. "After all, you killed several of our men when Hera was attacked, and you were wanted for questioning for numerous other incidents leading up to that event. Not to mention the acts we have perpetrated against your crew."

Mal nodded. "You take it correct. Andrews is a good kid, but he's a little naïve. He seemed to think we could just trade a few words and we would all be on our way."

"It surprises me to hear you say that, Captain. Mr Andrews seemed to think that you held him in great contempt, and went so far as to openly question his motives on board your ship."

"Well, that's true. But can you blame me? You hijacked my cargo, attacked my ship and my people, and then tried to blow me out of the sky when we were flyin' from the mess on Hera. How did that turn out for you, anyhow?"

"That's classified. But needless to say, the outcome was…unfavourable. It was a doomed operation before it began."

"Were you there?"

"No. I was on another assignment."

He gestured to a doorway leading from the corridor, and after activating a control the door swept open, revealing another passageway. After they had stepped through, the hatch swung closed behind them.

"So what's the plan?"

"Ordinarily we would review your record and give you an appropriate assignment if we consider it prudent to allow you to return to the fold. However there are unique circumstances that we must take into account. For example, that you are the most wanted man alive."

"I imagine that would hamper certain activities I might carry out," said Mal dryly.

"That is something else we must consider – the nature of your alleged crimes against the Alliance, and why they want you so badly. I assume that it has something to do with the circumstances that led you to Hera?"

"No," said Mal. "I think they just don't like me." Graham stopped walking, giving him a steely gaze. Mal matched his expression. "That was a joke, Major."

"I'm sorry, Captain. You must have mistaken me for someone with a sense of humour."

"I'll be sure to take that into consideration once our negotiations begin."

"Please do."

They started walking again, but Mal couldn't resist a sigh and a shake of his head. This was going to feel like an eternity.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

After they had been settled in to their new climate, the crew went their separate ways to facilitate their personal feelings. For Inara, that meant staying in the mess hall. While Zoe and Jayne had slipped away to explore, and Simon was visiting the medical bay on the station to offer his expertise, Inara found it more relaxing to simply stay in one place and observe the motion of life move around her.

It was her business to interact with people, and to make them feel comfortable – more than comfortable, a lot of the time. Her job was to offer an experience so sensually intense that whoever she was with could feel as though that was the only time that would ever matter in their lives. She was good at her job, but it had the drawback of meaning that every time she needed someone to connect with, unless they were another Companion, she found the experience lacking. And even if she did speak with a Companion, then she would aware of the likelihood that the experience was false – or rather, that the other Companion was simply falling back to their training to take care of her.

So instead, she had developed an innate survival mechanism – that she did not need anyone to connect with. She could take care of her own spiritual wellbeing perfectly well on her own. Even when sometimes she felt that she couldn't.

Picking idly at her tray of food, she was observing a group of younger pilots enjoying each other's company – the ebb and flow of social contact – when a hand hesitantly tapped her on the shoulder. Almost startled, she looked up and around.

"Mind if I join you?" asked the newcomer standing beside her. She was tall, with a long flow of dark hair cascading over the neckline of her mechanic overalls. Inara was surprised at her forthrightness, because as far as she was aware she and her crew were being treating with some suspicion by the New Independents.

Her manners overcame her surprise, and she pulled her own tray back to make room on the table. "Not at all."

The woman sat down opposite Inara and started to eat the food she had brought with her. She seemed to notice that Inara was regarding her with some reservation and smiled, evaporating whatever tension existed between them. "Don't worry. I'm not here to interrogate you. I just want to talk."

Inara returned the smile and began to eat again. "Good. I have to admit, I'm a little nervous about whatever the New Independents have planned for us. If you believe what the newscasts say, they are little more than a fringe terrorist group. Ah – no offence intended."

The woman waved her hand, dismissing the comment. "I assure you, none taken. I assume you have revised your opinion of the New Independent movement since your arrival?"

"Yes, absolutely. Your operation here is very advanced – much more than I would have first suspected."

The woman smirked. "'_My_ operation'. I don't exactly run things around here."

Inara smiled again, realising how defunct her previous statement must have sounded to the newcomer. "I suppose not."

"So, what brings you to Home Base?"

"Trouble with the Alliance. Quite unreasonably, they seem to want us all dead because we stumbled across what appears to be a vast conspiracy to cover up one of their operations."

"Unreasonable?"

"That's how I'd describe trying to kill us just to protect themselves from political fallout."

The woman pursed her lips. "I suppose so. But surely there must be some justification behind their attacks on you? Maybe it is a case where the needs of the many outweigh those of the few."

Inara's eyes narrowed. "In some cases yes, I would agree with you, but the Alliance operation doesn't appear to be worth anything to more than a select few. In which case, I would say that those people would be acting in their own best interests – putting their needs before those of the many."

The woman started playing idly with a chunk of meat on her tray with a fork. "I suppose to make a correct judgement you would have to be aware of the larger picture."

Inara could feel something unwelcome gestating in her gut – the feeling that something was wrong here. She set down her fork. She was no longer hungry. "The larger picture?"

"Yes."

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"Well…alright then. Imagine a power that exceeds you in every way. A power that can look at you and deem what is best for you and your life. Sometimes that means that you have to trust in the judgement of the power, even if the things it wants you to do seem wrong, or that they will hurt you. Even if the power wants you to die."

"You're talking about the Alliance," said Inara through the chill in her stomach.

The woman's dark eyes seemed to glint in the light. "What if the needs of the few reflect the needs of the many? What if the selfish individuals in your story are in reality doing what is best for the many…and in fact it is _you_ who is selfish for not submitting to your fate? What if, for the good of millions of people, it would be better if you simply disappeared…Inara?"

"I think we've reached the stage where we can stop using analogies," said Inara. "You didn't tell me your name. But then, I suppose it's because you don't have one."

The woman smiled again, but the expression held much more danger in it this time. "Your report doesn't do you justice, Inara. You catch on quick."

"I'm flattered. But just to clarify, you _are_ an Operative of the Alliance."

"Is there any need to clarify what we both now know?"

"That was clarification enough, thank you."

The Operative directed a calculating stare towards the Companion. "Again, I am impressed. Someone else's first reaction would be to call for help from those pilots." She indicated the group with a tilt of her head.

"That's because I assume you wouldn't be talking to me without some kind of precaution, or we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"You're right. You'd be dead before you drew the breath to shout, and it would look enough like an accident for me to simply look shocked and slip away unnoticed moments later, after the inevitable crowd gathers."

"I'm more interested to find out how you managed to infiltrate this asteroid, considering how its existence is meant to be top secret. And presumably the Alliance at large doesn't know about it, otherwise the navy would be bombarding the site right now."

With a long, delicate finger the Operative scratched the tip of her nose elegantly. "Let's just say that I have certain technology at my disposal that allows me to…_circumvent_ the usual security procedures of this facility. As for its continued existence, I have no interest in the survival or defeat of this group. My priority right now is you, Inara."

"What do you want?"

The Operative sat back in her seat, abandoning her food. Inara was amazed at how composed she felt. By her reckoning, this was the woman who had been chasing them, had shot Simon with a tracking pellet and was largely responsible for subjecting Kaylee to that…_thing_. By all rights she should feel a healthy combination of unholy rage and scared witless, but she was keeping her composure remarkably well. Hopefully she would keep it long enough to get through this.

"I've come to be honest with you, Inara," she said finally, with the hint of a troubled frown creasing her flawless brow. "I have sat analysing your report for hours and I cannot find a weakness. The Academy has taught you well; you are a well-rounded, healthily minded individual with no buttons to press. At least, that the Alliance knows about."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the fact that for the last three days I have been actively subverting the members of your crew. And that they have been co-operating with me without much resistance."

Shock hit Inara as if a brick had instead. "_What?_"

The Alliance agent nodded. "Oh yes. And you were going to be next, but like I said…I found great difficulty in revealing a weak spot in your defences. Ordinarily it might have weakened my overall plan, but fortunately there is an alternative to blackmail. And that is, negotiation."

"I have nothing to say to you," hissed Inara. "You and your Alliance have destroyed my life – _our_ lives. I'll likely never practice Companionship again, because of the warrant out on us. What do you have that I could possibly want?"

The Operative smirked, a wry smile that revealed the conversation was playing out as she had anticipated. "I have nothing to hold against you – and that's the problem. That's why I sit before you now. Instead of coercion, I have to make you an offer. And that's where I _do_ have something you want."

"I think I'm done talking to you." She grabbed the edges of her tray and tensed to stand, but the Operative's voice lashed into her mind, stilling her motion.

"If you stand up from this table, you will die."

The words were enough to make Inara pause, and that moment of hesitation was enough to prove to the Companion that she wasn't going anywhere. She remained seated.

"Well then, let me hear your so-called 'offer'."

The woman sat opposite her picked up her fork again, and resumed playing with the stew steaming on the tray. "You have to understand, Inara, that it's not about killing you any more. Ultimately, of course, you are all going to die, but for now my immediate priority is not killing you and your friends. I have a plan for you to carry out, which is why I made contact with members of your crew and began to bend them to my will."

"So I take it that River's coma is your doing?" asked Inara, but she knew the answer already. Simon would do anything for his sister; that was how the Operative was manipulating him. She felt her consciousness start to drift from her body; so unreal was the conversation she was having. It was as though she was listening to someone else when she heard her own voice. The person calmly discussing the reality that the people she lived with and trusted were being forced into acting as double agents for their common enemy couldn't be her. There was no way she could process that information rationally.

"Of course I'm responsible for that. Zoe told you that I was when she returned to the ship with River."

"Zoe…and you know that because you told Zoe to inform us that River's condition was a result of your actions."

"Correct."

Inara's mind raced, and though she could easily place the source of Simon's coercion, she couldn't think of a single thing that might force Zoe's hand into acting against her crew and her Captain. Zoe appeared to be incorruptible in the eyes of the Companion, and even more so since Wash had died – whatever the Operative was forcing Zoe to do, there was something behind it unbeknownst to Inara. Maybe there was something in Zoe's past that Inara wasn't aware of. And no doubt Jayne was co-operating on the basis of a bribe and the offer of a clean slate.

"What is your plan for us?" asked Inara finally. Another of those affable smiles came from the Operative.

"I'm not going to tell you that. I'll give you a hint, though. My plan for you is intrinsically linked with the goals of Project Nightmare."

Inara's eyebrow rose infinitesimally. "Project Nightmare?"

"Yes. You didn't think the Alliance is breeding the xenomorphs you encountered without any express purpose, did you? No. Project Nightmare has an ultimate goal, and everything has its place in it. The xenomorphs, me, and, of course, you and your crew."

"So that explains the sudden change in your attitude," said Inara. "Why you're not just trying to kill us. You've re-evaluated our value to whatever the end goal of Nightmare is."

"To be honest, it was more because you were proving far too difficult to simply eradicate. But yes, in a manner of speaking, your value to my assignment has increased."

Inara's thoughts were scanning everything she could remember about Project Nightmare. "So…you aren't in command of the Project, but your assignment is to bring about its end goal. And your predecessor's assignment was to find wherever the missing crate we picked up came from."

The Operative snorted. "He was a newly trained Operative, and we were testing his field worth. He failed miserably."

"But your concern isn't where the crate came from anymore," said Inara insightfully. "It's us. Why is that?"

"Very good, Inara," said the Operative with approval. "It's because there _was_ no missing crate. Do you remember being told that there are two installations operating under the jurisdiction of Project Nightmare?"

Inara nodded. "Yes. One was located on the cruiser that was chasing us. The other is unknown to me."

She spread her hands slightly as she spoke, as if she was imparting some memorised lecture she had spoken dozens of times. "In short, the new Operative's mission was an elaborate stage for him to act out the correct performance. We 'lost' a shipment, and his task was to find it. We are very careful with our secrets, Inara – we would not entrust such a task to an unproven agent. However, the difficulty lies in finding assignments ideal for testing new Operatives that do not pose a security risk to the Alliance. Of course by nature our missions are highly classified. Over time the result has been to simply invent assignments, allowing the illusion of control." Her hands clasped then, and she broke from whatever memory she was following.

"That's all very interesting, but I still don't know why you are here," prompted Inara, fighting the anger that was stirring inside of her to hear that the reason their lives had been devastated was a fake assignment for a newly pledged Operative.

"I've come to make you an offer," she said. "And I know you're going to accept it."

"We'll see," said the Companion primly.

"I've been tracking your ship since you left the moon through a number of covert communication devices built into the vessel's hull. The difficulty is that now I suspect you are about to be given a new place of residence; one I won't be able to follow or contact. I want you to make it possible for me to open a direct comms link to whatever vessel the New Independents give to you."

Inara started to laugh, though she did not find the situation very amusing. "Are you being serious?"

"Deadly." The woman's expression matched her words.

"In the first instance, why would I help you? From what you have said, if I cut off your ability to contact the others then your entire plan will fail."

"Which is exactly why you will help me." Inara's laughter failed, and a sense of unease grew about her. The Operative nodded. "That's right. If my plan fails, then you cease to be useful to me. I will kill you all. And I assure you, I am _much_ better at it than my predecessor."

Ignoring the chill running down her spine, Inara challenged the Operative's statement. "If you've read my file then you should know that I don't respond well to threats."

Some of the tension in the Operative dissolved, and she sat back in her seat. "Of course. Like I said, I am not here to coerce, I am here to bargain. I was merely informing you of what my course of action must be in that situation. Considering your penchant for evading the fate the Alliance has decided for you, there would be no guarantee that my attempts to neutralise you would succeed."

"I'm glad you understand that."

"My offer to you is this. If you do not help me, then the game ends for you here at this table. You will spend the rest of your days running, with no clue as to the reason. You will know that the Alliance has destroyed you, but not why. And before you go on the defensive again, I am not trying to appeal to your curiosity – to find out what the end aim of Project Nightmare is. I am appealing to your survival instinct. If you assist me and allow the game to continue, then there will exist the chance you can win the game."

"Win?"

"Well…maybe not win. Escape the game with a favourable outcome."

Inara sat quietly for a few moments, contemplating. The Operative's face betrayed nothing. "I'm sorry, but that's not a good enough offer. And frankly, I don't think that there is a price you can pay me that would make me betray my friends."

The Operative snorted. "'Friends'? Victims of the same circumstance, you mean. Your so-called _friends_ have already betrayed you, Inara."

Inara's eyes narrowed. "You haven't shown me any proof that they have. Everything you have said is circumstantial."

With a great sigh and a roll of her eyes, the Operative responded. "We both know that particular train of thought could go on for days, Inara. Am I lying? Am I telling the truth? Well, you're the trained Companion – you tell me if I'm lying."

"You don't appear to be. But you've clearly had a great deal of training which could allow you to mask your deception."

"Inara, I'm going to let you in on a secret. I don't lie. That's what makes me so dangerous. I may bend the truth from time to time, or not reveal the entire reality of a situation to someone, but I do not lie. Everything I have said to you is true, the same as everything I have told the other members of your crew. Of course, what I am saying to you _now_ might be a lie, but I think you understand my point. There is a limited amount of time for you Inara, and you shouldn't waste it trying to second guess the situation."

After a moment's thought, the Companion began to talk. "I'll do it if you tell me your plan. The whole thing, including what has happened before now, as well as the names of everyone involved in Project Nightmare."

The Operative tutted. "You know I can't do that."

"Then our conversation is over," said Inara, tensing to stand.

"Wait," snapped the Alliance agent. Inara paused. Gnawing at her lower lip, she looked almost distressed before continuing. "Alright. I'll make you a better offer."

Inara lowered herself to her seat, trying to hide the smirk lurking below the surface of her emotionless expression. The Operative's words had ultimately worked against her. _There is a limited amount of time for you, Inara._ Whatever her plan was, the Operative was working against the clock, and if Inara refused her offer then she would have to groom another crew for whatever end she was working towards – which would likely take more time than she had remaining to fulfil her objectives. Though Inara and the others would be killed, the Alliance agent would also lose out and likely her plan would fail. And considering how full of disdain her voice was when she talked about the fallen novice Operative, failure for her was not an option.

"I'm listening."

But then a strange thing happened. The Operative leaned forward, her eyes intent, drawing a breath to begin to speak – but the words stayed within her as she absorbed the look on Inara's face. Her lips, which had parted slightly, snapped closed as she rested back into her seat. With a shrewd expression, and after moments of silence, she finally began to talk.

"No. You're not going to co-operate with me. This has been a waste of time."

Before Inara could begin to argue her case, the Operative had stood up from her seat, leaving her tray of steaming stew behind. While the Companion had no intention of going along with whatever the Operative's plan was, she would like very much to learn what exactly it was.

"If you decide to change your mind, you can contact me by directing a narrow-band transmission at the third moon of Paquin, on channel seventy six, and enquire about medical supplies. Though I doubt I will be hearing from you."

With no further social graces, the Operative had walked gracefully away from the table and out of Inara's sight in less than five seconds. The Companion leapt up, intent on following the Alliance agent to wherever she was headed, but rounding the same corner only moments later revealed that the woman had vanished. Any of a dozen exits along the corridor could have provided her with an escape route, and Inara had no time to check even one of them, because at exactly that moment Simon, Zoe and Jayne appeared from around a bend at the far end of the passageway.

The trio saw and began to move towards her. Inara affected a calm outward composure and waved to her approaching crewmates, but inwardly she could feel her guts start to freeze when she thought of the implications of what the Operative had told her. Any or all of the three could be acting under the direct influence of the engineer of their destruction.

As Inara went to sit with the three, and as they discussed what Mal might be talking about with the heads of the New Independents and how that would effect their futures, only one thing swam through Inara's mind – how she was going to root out those of the crew being coerced and what they might do for the things being held against them.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

The female Operative strode through the corridors of Home Base, only once glancing down at the overalls she had clad herself in with the slightest trace of distaste.

Her conversation with Inara had had the desired effect. She doubted that the Companion would realise it was all an elaborate ploy to cover her real objective – to place a small tracking device on the woman when she had first asked to sit down. The small tap of her shoulder was all the contact she had needed to fulfil this task. Even if she discovered the tracker, she would likely not think to check for the Operative's secondary method – lacing her food with the same isotope the Alliance had tracked Simon Tam with. A few minutes in the kitchen of the mess hall had been enough to allow her this victory.

The conversation that took place afterwards was not entirely irrelevant; if the Operative had managed to talk Inara around to her way of thinking, then she would be one less obstacle to consider on board the ship. But as suspected, Inara Serra was immune to any kind of bribe or threat the Operative could think of.

She smirked faintly. It was a shame the Companion wasn't immune to electronic or chemical bugging. Then she would have truly been without a course of action to follow.

She approached her ship, docked in the main hangar bay, rendered invisible to sight and conventional sensors by stolen alien technology, her objectives here completed. It was almost pitiful, she thought, how easy it had been.

If this was any indication of how simple the next stage of her task would be, then it would all be over within a few days. The Operative felt a kind of satisfied calm descend upon her. She liked it when things were going her way.

_A/N:_

_The endless talking is nearly over - I promise. There's some major action coming your way in a few chapters for those of you sick and tired of the yap-yap-yapping. _

_Thanks to MAndrews for your review._


	19. Day Seven: Living Arrangements

**Previously **

_**Nightmare: Chapter 13**_

"I have a target for you. Malcolm Reynolds. The man simply won't die. Trying to kill him hasn't worked for us up until now, and as such, I thought we could utilise him in another capacity.

"An Operative undertaking his third Trial has gone Rogue. I have reason to believe that the Rogue will attempt to continue his crusade against Reynolds. I'll need to use the fugitive to smoke out our renegade."

**_Nightmare: Chapter 16_**

"Initially we required that your objective be fulfilled first, but now we must eliminate the Rogue before he does any more damage. He has already threatened the hold I have over two of Serenity's crew – we can't risk any more fallout from his continued involvement."

_**Nightmare: Chapter 17**_

Mal keyed to accept the transmission, and a message composed of text flashed up on the small monitor in front of him.

_All ships._

_Contact Malcolm Reynolds lost. New objective: Roderick Myers. Consult database for parameters. Seek out target as primary. Further instructions pending._

_End._

**Day Seven**

**Living Arrangements**

After a thousand questions, having his loyalty tested and every facet of his personality examined thoroughly, Mal entered the room, looking mildly subdued, and closed the door gently behind him. His crew were scattered about the place in various states of unconsciousness. Jayne lay draped across a tatty sofa, while Simon sat propped up in a chair, his chin resting lazily against his chest as he snored gently. Zoe had chosen the floor, leaning against the wall and propping her feet up protectively on the cryogenic container that held Kaylee, which Mal had insisted be brought to wherever the crew might be while they were on Home Base. Only Inara was awake, looking around at the Captain from where she sat reading bleary eyed as he entered.

He nodded wearily in greeting to her, and moved towards the table she sat at. He sank into one of the other chairs and rested his head in his hands, his weight being supported by his elbows, resting against the surface of the table.

"How did it go?" whispered Inara, not wanting to wake the others. After a few moments Mal rubbed his eyes and moved to folding his arms, leaning back in the chair.

"They had a few questions for me," he said in a gross understatement, and Inara made a wry expression,

"I can imagine. Anything we weren't expecting?"

"Naw. Stuff about my past, what I want to do in the future, how me being part of their private army would figure out. They gave me a psych analysis, of all the things."

"And?"

"They went for it, eventually. They'll give us a ship in exchange for the one we have," he replied. "There are a few conditions, though."

"I might have guessed."

"We can have it on the understanding that we're workin' for them. If they snap their fingers, we have to follow like an obedient pet." Had he more energy, more bitterness might have leaked into his words, however he looked too tired to complete even that simple function. "And we have to have a New Independent observer on board at all times, to keep an eye on us."

Inara's eyebrows rose. "I would have thought they would put into place more stringent measures to ensure our loyalty."

Mal nodded. "They were going to rig the engines to explode if the observer thought we were goin' too far astray. But one of them, Graham, he surprised me and argued our case. They settled for installin' a destruct mechanism on the ship. They're gonna let the observer know the codes to activate it, but not us. That way the observer can blow us up, but we can't."

"It's a good job we weren't planning on destroying our new ship then," commented Inara, and Mal nodded in agreement. "Who is the observer?"

"Andrews. Graham reckoned as he's already been with us this far, he can go the rest of the way. Something about 'existing rapport with the crew'. If only they knew."

"I think we could have done worse," said Inara, and Mal didn't reply. Inara frowned at him. "What is it?"

"They had a few demands of their own," he said. Inara's eyebrows shot up. "They wanted Oaty and Cullen."

"I hope you told them no," she said flatly.

"I did." Mal had confused feelings when it came to thinking about the young lad and the killing alien creature. Oaty had saved his life when they had been escaping from the Alliance, and he felt oddly protective of Cullen, despite the fact he must be some kind of weapon employed by the Alliance. While he should have no traditional loyalty to either of them, he had a feeling in his gut that if he abandoned them now he would end up regretting it. "I told them that Oaty would go berserk if we left him behind."

"That's true enough," said Inara, thinking of the rage the Hunter would spiral into once he had realised his pack had been separated from him. "What about Cullen?"

Mal paused for a moment. "I used the same excuse; that he'd been put with us for a reason, and that he might go the same way as Oaty would if his subconscious realised he couldn't fulfil his programming once we left him. They know all about River, so they wound up agreeing with me." The girl in question was being treated in the asteroid's somewhat limited medical facilities, located just down the corridor from the room they currently inhabited. Simon had overseen the tests, but had succumbed to sheer exhaustion and retired for the night.

"That's very selfless of you."

"Didn't do it for them. There's a reason Cullen is here with us, and I wanna find out what it is. Can't do that if he's locked up in a lab on this here asteroid."

Inara wisely let the course of the conversation move past that point, sensing some of the tension in Mal when it came to thinking about the boy. She knew herself that it was difficult to think of him both as an innocent youth corrupted by the Alliance and as a living weapon at the same time. Strange; surely they should be used to it by now through dealing with River. She found it uncomfortable to think it, but maybe it was because Cullen was just so…_normal._

Mal continued. "We can carry on investigatin' Project Nightmare, because they're interested in it themselves. Makes sense for us to continue, seein' as how we're right in the middle of it and all."

"Is there anything else I should know about?"

He shook his head. "Not really. Only that I told 'em only I was signin' up for their deal. That you'd all have to decide for yourselves whether or not to come along."

He glanced up at Inara, and she could see the insecurity lurking behind his eyes. Their situation was less than ideal, and the thought had already occurred to her that they could simply hide, here on this asteroid, until whatever trouble they had with the Alliance blew over. It was very brave of Mal to open himself to the possibility that he alone would be continuing his quest to uncover the truth about Project Nightmare.

She gave him a theatrical sigh. "That was very thoughtful, but it's not like I have anywhere else to go, is it? I _might_ as well tag along with you a little longer, if only to find some place a little more habitable than this rock."

He smiled back at her, sensing the joke. They sat for a few moments in companionable silence before he spoke again.

"So how come you aren't asleep? The livin' arrangements not to your taste?"

The Companion glanced around at each of the sleeping crew, something playing across her face, but Mal couldn't say what it was. She looked back at Mal and shrugged. "I guess I'm just not tired," she said, looking as exhausted as he felt.

But before he could comment on her words, Jayne rolled over in his sleep and fell off the couch, waking himself and the others, and Mal started over again, informing them of the situation.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Major Graham extended his hand and firmly shook Mal's. "Captain," he said brusquely in greeting. He led the way down a corridor that would eventually feed out into the hangar bay that sat above the one they had arrived in.

"I was just gettin' used to bein' plain old 'Mr Reynolds' again," said Mal. Graham cocked a look to his side.

"You could never be just a mister, Captain," he said in a no-nonsense tone of voice, and Mal didn't know how to accept the statement other than to breeze past it without acknowledgment of any kind.

"So, uh…what kind of ship are you gifting to us?"

"You'll see in just a moment, Captain. They were going to try and palm off a Seagull-class garbage scow onto you, but I convinced them to upgrade their offer."

Mal nodded. "Yeah. Okay. About that. I just, uh…wanted to say…y'know…thanks, for helpin' us out and all. You've really put your neck out for us since we got here."

"You don't have to thank me, Captain."

"Normally, yeah, but the thing is…I can't work out why you're bein' so gorram helpful. So I figure I'd best thank you for it."

A flicker of what might have been a smile on the face of someone who actually emoted crossed Graham's face. "Believe it or not, despite the bad run of luck you've had with this organisation, most of us are decent people looking to do the right thing. I can see that beneath your exterior façade of not caring, that you too are a good man. And I like to help out my own kind when I can."

"Well, I'm alright."

They stepped through the passageway leading into the hangar bay, and Graham clapped Mal on the shoulder with a strength that might have shattered granite, but Mal was no longer paying attention to him. What must surely be his new ship loomed in front of him as his heart gave a peculiar lurch.

It was a Firefly.

Granted, it was not the _same_ Firefly. It was of the same model, but it had been extensively retrofitted, as had Serenity when he first encountered her. This vessel's hull gleamed more brightly, though it did not reflect the light well, absorbing most of the illumination. Mal guessed it had recently been polished fitfully.

The fusion engines had been torn off and replaced with newer, more efficient models, though only his trained eye could detect the very slight difference between the paint on the hull of the ship and that on the engines. He could only guess as to the changes that had been made to the interior of the ship, but he stood transfixed, staring at what embodied both the demons of his past and his hopes for the future.

Graham allowed him to stand for a few moments, and then nudged him gently along, obviously sensing the need for sensitivity in regard to the strength of his movements. Mal started to walk numbly along as Graham steered him towards the airlock at the front of the ship.

The Major discretely ordered a senior technician, in no uncertain terms, that the ship was to be cleared of all personnel immediately, which precipitated a flood of New Independent engineers leaving through the airlock. Graham and Mal stood patiently awaiting entry, and this allowed Mal to sort his jumbled thoughts somewhat.

He was feeling a healthy mixture of grief and joy to be confronted by such a vision of his past. Only a week ago Serenity had been his ship, and only a week ago had he lost her to the inky depths of the ocean he had almost found his death in along with the ship's. But here, now, it was almost like he had her back, as if the loss didn't exist.

But it _did_ exist; he could still feel it rolling around near the base of his stomach. He had been feeling apprehensive about the prospect of receiving a new ship, however now he half wished that the vessel had been a completely different configuration. Could he simply replace one ship for the other? Pretend that this ship was Serenity? Of course not. Serenity had been more than just a shell transporting them through space; she had been their home, customised in a hundred ways that could never be replicated. That he would never _want_ to replicate.

His rational side told him that he was being ridiculous – that Serenity was just a ship, a piece of machinery, for rut's sake. Was telling him to grow up and get on with things. But he never did pay much attention to his rational side, even at the best of times.

Graham led him up the ramp and gave him a full tour of the new vessel. He tactfully mentioned that everything had been stripped down to its basic configuration, and what he meant is that he understood exactly what Mal was going through. This ship was now an empty shell, ready to become whatever he and the others wanted it to be; a home, maybe. Or simply a machine that served only to take them from point A to point B. For such a humourless man, Graham was proving to be quite adept at understanding the inner nature of human emotion.

The one thing Mal knew could never be changed about a ship were the myriad ways in which its engineer altered the standard technical configuration. One look inside the engine room revealed that the ship's previous owner had altered the mechanics in such a way that anyone even vaguely familiar with Serenity's technical layout could see that this was a completely different ship.

That thought brought a fresh surge of grief as he thought of Kaylee and how she had treated the ship as a living thing, caring for it as tenderly as a pet…or more fittingly, a companion. The previous engineer of this ship, Mal sensed, had no such regard for the vessel, treating it more like a machine. This much was obvious looking at the engine. Rather than moulding it into something new as Kaylee had done – removing parts that were no longer needed and adding others when necessary – they had patched over and around what was already there, leaving the old layout intact, rerouting and making additions to make the ship run. It was an inefficient system at best. The New Independents, however, had made one notable modification to the engine room. There was now a system in place that, when activated, would cause an overload in the ships engines and detonate the fuel core. This self-destruct mechanism was their guarantee that Mal would behave himself.

The living quarters had been stripped of everything except the absolute basics, and Mal thought bitterly that they would remain so even after the others had arrived; their collective possessions being the clothes on their backs and nothing more. This ship was not of the same configuration as Serenity; there was an extra crew bunk along the corridor leading from the bridge to the mess hall, meaning there was less room at the top of the cargo bay. But Mal had found he rarely needed to stack crates all the way up to the ceiling, so it was unlikely to become an issue.

The New Independents had kindly supplied them with another upgrade than the engines. The central computer was a newer Cyberdyne Systems model, several generations more advanced than the one Serenity had. Graham informed him that the entire New Independent military database, as well as that of the Alliance transport they had stolen, had been uploaded into its memory banks. Additionally, a custom designed long-range transmitter had been installed onto the vessel that theoretically allowed Mal to report back to Home Base from anywhere in the system, through interference of any kind.

_Great,_ thought Mal. _No chance of pretending we don't have a signal._

The port shuttle's docking clamps had fused, one of the steps leading up to the catwalk over the cargo bay wobbled when you stepped on it, and the air purifying system in the passenger dorm rattled. The only other thing that Mal could see was different was that the doors in the mess hall opened the wrong way. Entering from the bridge, the handle was on the left hand side rather than the right. Nothing important, but Mal could see himself clutching at air when he reached for the handle for a long while.

The two men completed their tour on the bridge, with Mal still in a state of mild shock. Being here was like being home, but nothing like it at the same time. It was a frustrating limbo between sorrow and happiness, and Mal didn't know what to say, or even how to think straight. Part of him wanted to punch the Major. After all, he had forced this odd moral dilemma onto Mal. It seemed only fitting that he should suffer for it as well. Ultimately, though, he decided to just thank the Major again and be done with the situation. With a knowing smile Graham patted him on the shoulder again, this time with great force, as if he knew Mal was going to be all right and could withstand the full brunt of his strength, and disembarked.

Alone on the bridge, Mal sank into the pilot's chair and stared out at the busy hangar deck beyond the forward screen. For an indeterminable amount of time he simply sat, staring and brooding. But he was eventually roused from his unresponsive state when the sight of his crew entering the hangar deck reached his eyes. He saw their stunned reactions at a distance, and then they ran to the ship, Simon lagging behind on account of the bullet wound still affecting his movement. He rose from the chair and the two parties met in the mess hall as he walked aft to greet them.

He easily slipped back into his 'Captain-knows-best' persona, his personal shield against the maelstrom of emotions blazing inside of him, and between that and seeing the faces of his excited crew it was almost enough. Inara openly grinning; Jayne nodding approvingly; Simon eagerly scanning the interior of the vessel, as if refreshing his memory; and Zoe almost smiling, happy to be back in familiar surroundings but pained by the sense of loss those memories brought with them.

Almost enough.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"So what do we do now?"

Three men, two women, and Jayne, who had inevitably asked the fated question. Reduced in their number, beaten and bruised, but still standing. The words bounced around the room that was both intimately familiar and immeasurably strange, reaching the ears of the people sat around its table, not quite willing to engage in that cursed activity of eating a meal together.

Subdued, no one replied to the question, the one who had uttered it defiantly searching the assembled person's faces for an answer. Slowly, Mal rapped his knuckles against the surface of the table three times, though in the silent mess hall the action was unnecessary. Sadly reminiscent of better times, but unnecessary nonetheless.

He glanced around the table, meeting the eyes of all those sat with him, even Andrews, who looked out of place down at the far end, leaving a respectable distance between himself and the existing crew.

After a long pause, leaving them all in suspense for as long as possible, Mal finally spoke his thoughts.

"Roderick Myers," he said.

Jayne frowned at the Captain. "Who?"

Mal stood from the table slowly; even in his melancholy the urge to be dramatic was strong. "Back on that troop transport, we received a transmission from the Alliance. In it was a simple instruction – give up on chasin' all of us, and go lookin' for this guy Roderick Myers instead. Now it's obviously a trap, because the Alliance didn't just give up on findin' us just like that. But right now it's our only lead. Someone wants us to go to Londinium – specifically, the address listed in the personal file of Roderick Myers – and I say we go and figure out why."

"An address in a file ain't much to go on," Jayne pointed out. Mal nodded in agreement.

"I know. I'm not sayin' it's a good idea, I'm sayin' it's our only idea. Well, I suppose we could kick around out here for the rest of our lives, but that ain't somethin' I'm too keen on, truth be told."

He started to walk around the table; withdrawing into the motion as he brought up the thing he was afraid of most during this exchange.

"…Thing is, I only told our new friends that I'd be goin' along with this crazy idea. Cullen, Oaty and Daniels will all be comin' along too, but the good news for you is that you all get a choice. You can stay here on Home Base, or you can come with us. It's up to you, but this is your port of call if you've got any doubts at all."

There was a pregnant pause about the room as those whose choice had yet to be made pondered their futures. Of course, there was no way any of them were going to stay behind; not with what was being held against them by the Alliance. But the unknown consequences of being coerced by the various agents set against them loomed large in their minds. What were they going to be forced to do? What dangers and betrayals must they endure once they left the temporary sanctuary of Home Base? There was a definite sense of the imminent – something big was about to happen, lurking just beyond their perception of the moment, and all of them were powerless against whatever it was going to be.

Zoe was the first to speak. "I'm with you," she said quietly, not meeting Mal's eyes. Simon nodded, staring at the wall.

"Me too," he said. Jayne took a moment longer but then relented, throwing himself back in his chair and folding his arms.

"Aw hell," he said. "Me three."

Mal nodded, trying not to let his relief leak through his outer emotional shield of enforced indifference. "Good. Well, we got a few things to do before we leave this here base. We need to get River and Kaylee stowed safe in the infirmary, then we gotta get Oaty into one of the shuttles." He had decided that was probably the best place to house the creature. The docking clamps had seized up; meaning that it could not be released without some heavy-duty engineering work, and he doubted Cullen would appreciate being kept next door to a savage alien being in the passenger dorms. "Once we get all of our gear stowed, we can hit the databanks in the computer and see what else we can dredge up about this guy Myers."

"Was there anything else in his file other than the address?" asked Simon. Mal shook his head.

"No. Only that he's been dead for twelve years."

The look on Simon's face spoke volumes, but Inara voiced his concerns before he got the chance to. "So we're looking for a dead man."

"Yup."

Some uneasy glances were exchanged. Inara, stepping into the role of group spokesperson against insane ideas, spoke again.

"Mal, that's…that's possibly the worst idea I've ever heard."

Mal shrugged. "You don't like it, I hear they've got space here on this rock floatin' out in the dead of space. Look. I know how it sounds, but I've got a feelin' in my belly – whatever it is the Alliance wants from us, we're gonna find it at that address."

"What makes you say the Alliance wants anything from us at all?" asked Simon, his face veiled.

"C'mon, Doc. They go to all the trouble of tryin' to pin us down back when we crashed, and after we escaped we've not even heard a squeak outta them. Something's goin' on, and I'm gonna find out what it is."

There was another awkward pause. Mal assumed it was everyone adjusting to the reality of his best-he-can-do plan, but he was mistaken.

Simon realised that at this point he might have given something away to Mal had he felt the slightest trace of guilt about his borderline betrayal – some sign of the emotion flickering across his face – but his ability to remain totally deadpan almost shocked him. He was discovering a side to himself he had never explored before, and had never cared to, and he was not scared or displeased with it. Neither was he satisfied; he was simply doing what was necessary to ensure the survival of River. Maybe that was just an excuse to absolve himself of responsibility, but he sensed it was deeper than that.

Across the table from the doctor, Zoe was steeped in the kind of meditative brooding that had engulfed her since Wash had – or more pointedly, might not have – died. Having been the one the Operative had approached first, she had had the most time to adjust her way of thinking to the new situation, but it had not benefited her. Her agony and indecision had reached a critical point, having inhabited her body for so long that it felt like it was now another internal organ. If her soul had been a living, physical thing, then it would be as sickly as an ailing pet, trembling against a terrible illness. Zoe was strong, but she was about to buckle with the emotional pain.

Sat next to Zoe, Inara stared at the others in silent contemplation. While it was entirely possible that the Operative was subverting the others, she could not detect any sign of it on their faces. They were all acting exactly as she expected – though, she admitted, if the Operative was as good as she claimed, she would have manipulated the others into acting that way, to remove suspicion. After all, Simon was worried about his sister, and Zoe had been an emotional mess since the day they released the signal. And even if Jayne _was_ being coerced, all it would take is a bribe and he would remain tight-lipped until the situation resolved itself. Had Jayne engineered the scheme himself, his behaviour would become erratic, but the Operative would have presented him such a perfect escape that all he would have to do is stay quiet until the exact moment of his betrayal, and then execute it.

Among those assembled in the mess hall, only Daniel Andrews knew for certain that one of the others was being manoeuvred, but he did not yet feel secure enough with the crew to make the accusation without any solid evidence. Even now he was an 'observer' – a position that placed him, inherent to its nature, outside and apart from the crew. Which left him at something of an impasse. But despite all of that, he was determined to see this thing through to the end. River Tam, Simon's mysterious sister, had told him that he was going to save the lives of these people. Normally he was sceptical about so-called psychics and Readers, but something about the girl stuck in his head and refused to budge. He did not know if he believed her, but he knew that his journey with Mal and his crew had not reached its end yet, and he would be damned before he was going to quit now.

Only Jayne had managed to attain some semblance of a normal state of mind during the whole affair, and was also eager to see the end of it. All he needed to know was that, however things turned out, he was going to look after Number One, and that had been enough to see him through rough patches in the past. Therefore it was fitting that he was the first to break the silence, slapping the surface of the table and standing with great import.

"Well then, we'd best get started," he said with confidence. His words ignited the crew and they sprang forward with a purpose, leaving their seats and heading towards the future; whatever it held for all of them. He stood for a moment longer, thinking about everything Mal had said, and one important detail stood out in his mind – something he decided to share with the others.

"What kind of a dumb name is 'Roderick' anyway?"

There was a moment as the others exchanged glances with each other, checking that Jayne really had just asked that question, and then the laughter started. The absurdity of a man with a girl's name insulting another person's designation hit them even stronger as his face screwed up in confusion, wondering why his simple observation had inspired such a display of joviality. As they felt the soothing presence of laughter return after what seemed like an eternity, helping to heal some of the bleeding wounds they carried in their hearts, they had no idea that Jayne's simple statement had precipitated a series of events that would have devastating consequences for all of them.

The vibrations Jayne's vocal chords produced resonated around his body, reaching the small device that had been implanted near his shoulder blade, and this in turn transmitted a signal towards its designated receiver. The statement sped across the vast distance of space, penetrating the cold vacuum to arrive safely at their destination – a small vessel lurking on the dark side of a nearby planet.

The Rogue Operative sat at his bank of monitoring equipment, listening intently to the one side of the conversation he was privy to. The statement fed into the speakers of the console and reproduced the sounds Jayne had made, thus forming the fated words.

"_What kind of a dumb name is 'Roderick' anyway?"_

He felt a chill; a sudden rush of gooseflesh rippled along his arms and down his back, and he cocked his head oddly to the side, as if daring the supposition he had just made in his head to become real. He jabbed at a button on the console and it brought up the main Alliance cortex to which he had retained unlimited access. He keyed up the Alliance personnel records and input the required data:

_R…o…d…e…r…i…c…k… M…y…e…r…s…_

The requested file – identical to the one Mal had scrutinised – flashed onto the screen, displaying Myers' date of death and his last known place of residence.

He felt his blood run cold. All thought within his mind locked and seized up, not allowing him to move beyond that moment, even as time moved beyond it external to his body. It was the address in Londinium. _The _address in Londinium. She had found it. _She._ Without any conscious instruction, his body had raised itself from the seat and stood rigidly in the centre of the corridor.

"That…" he said, but numbly, without emotion. "That…"

He whirled suddenly and struck the console in front of him with all of his strength. His ligaments screamed in protest but his brain was no longer listening. Instantly his numbness was replaced by an all-consuming rage that filled his entire body and then spilled out into the vessel, seeping from the hull and filling the entire solar system with its infinite depth, expanding beyond that and devouring all of reality with its desperate hunger.

"_Bitch!"_ he screamed, the word becoming simply a sound as he lashed all about him, demolishing the interior of the ship with the power of his hatred and rage, the emotion streaming out of him through his vocal chords as he roared.

Like a joint popping out of place, his violent rage was displaced by a cold fury, rational thought returning to him all at once as his target solidified in his mind. He strode directly to the cockpit and with great force punched a new destination into the nav computer. The ship responded quickly, and he returned to pacing the narrow corridor of the vessel's aft section.

He did not know exactly how it was possible, but he was going to inflict something that had never been done to any living being onto those who opposed him. Their fate transcended pain and death and would set a new precedent to how those who survived viewed suffering. He would annihilate them so completely that mere death would seem trivial in comparison. He would consume their immortal souls, casting them into utter oblivion for all eternity.

His brain struggled to formulate ways in which to adequately physically express his strength of emotion at that moment, and even later, when any sane person's anger would have naturally abated, he still simmered in silent rage.

His ship sped towards Londinium, and Roderick Myers.

_A/N:_

_Thanks to MAndrews and epm00012004 for your reviews - I appreciate it, guys. I don't know about taking over the world, MAndrews - too much paperwork!_


	20. Day Eight: Coming To A Head

**Day Eight**

**Coming To A Head**

"How much longer?" asked Mal of Zoe, walking onto the bridge. She sat in the pilot's chair, retaking the role of unofficial pilot. Though he knew it must be hard for her, considering how her dead husband had filled the post before Reavers murdered him, it wasn't as if he had much of a choice. The only other person on the ship qualified to fly it, other than himself, was Andrews, and he was busy down in the engine room, having become the unofficial engineer. When Mal had last poked his head into the chamber it had been a chaotic mess of cables, pipes and small pieces of machinery, the nature of which he couldn't begin to guess. Andrews might not know what the hell he was doing down there, but again, it wasn't as if he had a choice. His old engineer was stowed in a cryogenic container in the infirmary, and having worked in a machine shop for several years, it made Andrews the logical choice to try and keep the ship ticking over. It's just that it might explode in the process.

"Twelve hours," said a sullen Zoe from the chair. They were speeding towards Londinium, ordinarily a place they would never have gone considering it was a Core World and had a heavy Alliance presence, but Mal had the ever-growing feeling that they could fly right into the path of an Alliance cruiser and not hear a peep. Something more was going on than it first appeared. He was being led to the address on Londinium for whatever purpose, and in just over twelve hours he would know what it was. Maybe then this ordeal would be over for them all, and the Alliance would let them go on their way.

He snorted to himself, leaving the bridge. That was more than wishful thinking – it was insane. Then again, maybe he was being insane by thinking they weren't just going to be blown up as they approached a Core World, and he was flying his crew to their deaths. It wasn't that he didn't care about that possibility, but a combination of the situation having brought out his reckless streak even more readily than normal, and having no other choice but to go to Londinium made him stop worrying before he even began. Besides, there was a feeling in his gut that told him he was safe to approach the address, if only for the fact that he had so easily escaped the Alliance's clutches. Nothing in his life had been easy, and he didn't think fate was going to start dealing him a better hand than he had been getting all of a sudden.

Being on this ship wasn't helping, either. He was still being confronted by the strange mixed sensation of feeling the loss of Serenity and happiness at feeling like he was home again. He'd piloted the vessel out from Home Base after they had stowed everything aboard, and though it was almost the same as Serenity, the new ship responded to his touch ever so slightly differently. If he started pretending like this was Serenity in an attempt to soothe his grief, he might find himself piloting the new ship as if it were the sunken vessel. In an emergency, it could cost him everyone's lives if he made such a mistake. Thus, he had to remain conscious at all times that this ship was not Serenity, which in turn increased his ill feeling.

The irony of the situation was not entirely lost on him, however. For the past week he had done nothing but wish for his home back, and in an odd way the 'verse had provided for him. But the new ship came courtesy of the organisation he had sworn never to get involved with again, and now that he had the replacement Firefly, all he could think was that he'd rather have another ship; a new configuration, one that he could immerse and familiarise himself with anew, and in turn help him forget about Serenity. It was a cruel thing for him to think, but right now he needed his focus, and getting upset about his lost ship was only distracting him from the real problems going on around them.

He shrugged off the dark thoughts pervading his mind and entered the mess hall, where Jayne was busy working through the weaponry provided to them by the New Independents. Though not a large arsenal by any stretch of the imagination, it was better than the exactly no guns they had before that point.

Jayne picked up half of the dismantled rifle he had been cleaning and tossed it to Mal, who caught it with one hand.

"Look down the barrel," said Jayne, in disgust. Mal closed one eye and peered down the hollow cylinder of metal.

"It's dirty," he observed. Jayne scowled.

"Gorram right it's dirty. That one's in good shape compared to the rest. Don't know how they expected us to fight with these weapons. We'd be better using…harsh language."

Mal chuckled, placing the half-rifle back on the long table. "As long as we have somethin' by the time we reach Londinium. Zoe gives us twelve hours 'fore we get there."

"Aye," acknowledge Jayne. Mal turned to the rear of the mess hall and nearly walked straight into Cullen as he rounded the corner, coming up the stairs from the infirmary. Mal backed away, not wanting to trigger whatever self-defensive conditioning that lay dormant in the young man's mind. His eyes started to fill with confusion, but Mal distracted him with a question.

"Everythin' where it should be?" he enquired. At Mal's request, Simon had given Cullen a complete medical since they had left Home Base, and that was presumably where Cullen had been walking from. He nodded to Mal's question.

"Yes. Dr Tam is quite proficient. To the point of exhaustion, actually."

Mal clapped a hand on Cullen's shoulder and stepped past him into the corridor leading to the engine room. "Don't worry, kid. You'll get used to it. There'll come a day when you're shot or burned and you'll be glad the Doc takes up so much of your time."

Yet again confusion welled up in Cullen's eyes. He had been walking around with a bewildered expression on his face for the past twelve hours, ever since he had learned he was travelling with fugitives of the Alliance. Then he had seen Oaty, which sealed his permanent bafflement. On top of all of that, dealing with the eccentricities of the crew – and they had more than a few between them – meant that Cullen was completely out of his depth.

"Shot or burned?" he repeated, and Mal just grinned at him, walking away. He relished the opportunity to play with Cullen's emotions, maybe because his upper-class background made him the typical citizen of a Core World – the stronghold of the government they were running from. It wasn't exactly fair, but Mal hadn't been dealt a particularly good hand most of his life – why should he make things easier for Cullen?

Descending the stairs, he was once again struck by the stark difference between this ship and Serenity. Instead of the tattered sofas of their old home, the sight of an empty space greeted him. Major Graham had explained that this area had been left vacant deliberately, as traditionally Firefly-class ships utilised the space differently depending on their purpose. Serenity had been a home, and so that area had become a communal space for everyone to unwind in. Other ships used it as an armoury, or as an extension of the infirmary in the form of some kind of science lab. This vessel, as yet, had no objective beyond that of completing their task, and as such Mal had absolutely no idea what its long-term purpose was. Could this ship become a home? Or would it become another workhorse of the New Independent fleet? Only time would tell.

Mal again dismissed the thoughts and stepped inside the infirmary, where Simon sat in the middle of chaos. He had emptied the entire contents of their medical stores around the infirmary, and was cataloguing everything in exactly the same way he had organised it on Serenity. It was no small task. Boxes lined the work surfaces, and bottles were scattered across the floor. Simon was organising the supplies in some way Mal couldn't identify, but definite groups and piles of things were gathering in the midst of the disorder.

Mal cleared his throat and the doctor looked up, distracted from his task. "Hmm?" he asked of Mal.

"Just checkin' in on you," said Mal. Simon glanced around the infirmary and then back to the Captain.

"Does this answer your question?" he asked, and Mal nodded.

"It answers my question 'bout what you're doing. About the kid, though…"

"The kid? Oh, Cullen. He's fine – perfectly healthy in every way."

"What about the other scans I mentioned?"

"The brain scans?" Simon shook his head. "Nothing abnormal came up, although the equipment I have here isn't capable of making a more detailed analysis of his cerebral structure. Why did you ask?"

"It's just that, when you said you scanned River's brain back on Ariel, you found somethin'…missing, or damaged, right?"

Simon's eyes became dark. "Yes… Her limbic system had been removed. Among other things. But I can't make a scan like that without access to a neuro imager." His brow creased as it occurred to him Mal might be asking him these questions for a reason beyond curiosity. "Why?"

Mal leaned against the doorway to the room. "Me and 'Nara been talkin' to our young prodigy, and it seems he was accepted into a school not unlike the one River attended. You catch my meaning?"

"You're saying he's…?"

"To be honest, Doctor, I've got no idea what I'm sayin'," said Mal with a hint of defeat in his voice. "There's too much stuff goin' on for me to be certain 'bout anything. All I know is that the kid ain't right in the head. Sometimes it seems like…well, like he ain't all there. Kind of like your kid sister."

Simon was staring off into the distance, his thoughts on the information Mal had just provided to him. "If he is from the same place as River, then…maybe I can find a way to reverse whatever the Alliance did to her, and she might start to recover…"

"Maybe you shouldn't talk like that, Doc." Off Simon's perplexed expression, Mal explained himself. "If you broke out River 'fore the Alliance was finished with her, and Cullen is how someone looks when they've gone through the process, then you might be better off with River."

"What makes you say that?" asked Simon, wondering what might have compelled Mal to think that having a mentally traumatised younger sister would be better than someone not suffering any apparent ill effect.

"Well, whatever they wanted to do to River, they couldn't – you saw to that. No one came to rescue Cullen, so whatever the Alliance was gonna do to River, they finished on him. They ripped out his mind, replaced it with whatever conditioning they wanted, and then they patched him back together to make him seem just like any other person. But he ain't. Under the shell of normality is a livin' weapon, just waitin' for the trigger to go berserk. Although they've damaged River, at least she can remember it and fight against it. Cullen is none the wiser for the years he spent in that place. When the time comes, he probably won't even realise he's doin' it."

Simon didn't respond, Mal having given him a lot to think about. The Captain tapped the side of the door with his fist.

"Well…have fun with your organisin'. We get to Londinium in twelve hours."

Pacing up the small set of stairs, Mal emerged in the cargo bay, where Andrews was working with Inara and Cullen, who must have doubled back from the mess hall when he realised Jayne was the only company up there. Along with the weapons and medical supplies, the New Independents had unceremoniously dumped a number of supply packs into the cargo bay, which is what the three were sorting through as Mal approached.

"How's it goin'?" he asked, mostly to Inara. She looked up from her task of organising bundles of clothing into different piles and smiled at him.

She had changed from her typical flowery Companion garb into more comfortable attire – something he might have expected Kaylee to be wearing, if she wasn't laid up in a cryo container. The wounds that had dominated her features a week ago had faded until they were no more than surface tissue – something he was sure a good cosmetic surgeon could patch up in no time. Not that he minded. In fact, he thought they defined her character more than her female charms ever could.

Despite the change of clothing, she still moved with the same grace as before. The low-key outfit might have even served to emphasise her flowing movements. Mal realised he was staring and broke away from her eye contact, shuffling in embarrassment at his social faux pas.

"It's goin' fine, Cap'n," said Andrews helpfully. Ever since they had left Home Base twelve hours ago, he had insisted on using that particular mode of address when he spoke to Mal, even though it set his teeth on edge. In fact, that was probably the reason Andrews called him it.

As always, Mal was instantly untrusting of Andrews. Though they had encountered decent New Independents since their run of bad luck over the past two weeks, he felt that there was something more to Andrews than the man was revealing – like he was always holding himself back, observing what everyone else did and then moving with the accepted social pattern. Until he found out the reason behind his behaviour, he did not expect to trust him.

He had tried to emphasise the distance between them by assigning Andrews a passenger dorm, rather than one of the crew quarters, although they would have ran out of space anyway. Simon and Inara now held quarters between the bridge and the mess hall, along with Mal, Zoe and Jayne. River was in Simon's bunk, still suffering under the influence of whatever condition had been inflicted upon her by the Alliance, and Cullen was down in the passenger dorms with Andrews. Oaty was locked in the port shuttle, seeing as how he couldn't disengage the fused docking clamps by accident, and Inara maintained that she would only sleep in the crew cabin until she could get the starboard shuttle into a liveable condition. Finally, Kaylee, in her cryogenic crate, had been stowed in the infirmary under one of the examination tables, where Simon could make the necessary, regular alterations to the delicate conditions operating inside the container to ensure her survival.

"Good," said Mal, returning to the present. "You remember where I told you to put all this stuff?"

Andrews nodded, covered in grease. He must be taking a break from fixing up the engine room. "Yeah. Pretty self-explanatory really. Blankets in the living quarters, food in the mess hall, medical stuff in the infirmary…anything I missed?"

Before Mal could respond, Zoe's voice cracked from the speakers, ripping through any possible contender for divided attention.

"_Cap'n, get up here, _now!"

Detecting the urgency and alarm in her voice, Mal turned from the three and bolted up the stairs leading to the catwalk above his head. He was vaguely aware that they were following him, but the thought of whatever had caused Zoe such agitation overwhelmed any other consideration.

The Alliance has caught up with us. There's an armada between Londinium and us. Londinium has blown up. The New Independents left a bomb on the ship. The self-destruct has activated. We're leaking atmosphere. Bounty hunters are chasing us. We're all dead and this is all some kind of shared afterlife, and Zoe is the first one to realise it.

Out of all the possibilities that occurred to him in those brief seconds, as soon as he stepped onto the bridge he realised how far wrong he had been on all counts.

Hanging in the middle of the forward screen was a small ship, no larger than half the size of the Firefly they currently inhabited, but that was not what drew his attention. The smirking face that sprang from every monitor on the bridge drew his attention. The cold, blue eyes. The ape-like face. The healing knife wound on his cheek.

"Hello, Mal," said the male Operative over the open comms link. He held up his hands on the display, effecting an expression of mock resignation. "I surrender."

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"He's lying," said Simon, the first to speak across the table to the hastily assembled conference. "We can't trust anything he says."

"Well ain't that obvious," drawled Jayne. "The question was, 'what do we do about it?'"

"We let him drift," said Simon. "If we open the door to these people, they will exploit us. We will lose. We can't let him on this ship."

"'These people'?" repeated Andrews pointedly. "There's only one of him."

Simon scowled, but didn't meet his eyes. "You know what I mean. The Alliance. He's one of them."

"I say we let him in here," said Zoe dangerously. "And we show him exactly what we think of what his people are doin' to us."

"While I might disagree with some of the sentiment, I concur with Zoe," said Inara. "I think we can learn more than we are risking by bringing him on board."

Mal sat back, trying and failing to assess the situation objectively. Logically, he should let the Operative on board – the man was surrendering and offering up everything he knew about the Alliance, having apparently been shunned from their ranks after he had failed to capture them. The vast wealth of restricted knowledge an Operative would have, even a fledgling recruit, would be worth anything, especially in their position.

However…it just wasn't right. Why would he come to them, of all people? Would he not travel to the New Independents and offer them his support? Mal stopped himself short. In effect, they _were_ New Independents. They were travelling in a ship carrying their flag – officially, anyway. Although they had encountered each other before, it might make sense that he would seek them out. Maybe that was the logical explanation – even though they had been trying to kill each other, they knew each other. He wouldn't be travelling with strangers, but with those he knew reasonably well.

But Simon was right. He was lying. He _had_ to be. _They'll come at you sideways,_ recalled Mal. The Shepherd's words, although they bored him sometimes, were the wisest he had ever heard, and he had no intention of dishonouring his memory by ignoring his sound advice.

Mal realised he had already made up his mind. They could sit here for hours and debate it, but the fact was they had to get to Londinium as soon as possible, and this new development was only holding them up. He stood from the table, indicating he had made his decision.

"Zoe, bring us close enough to dock with his ship. Jayne, get ready with Inara to greet our guest. We got any weapons worth talkin' 'bout yet?"

"I got two rifles cleaned and ready to go," reported Jayne.

"Good. You and 'Nara take one each and I'll meet you down there. We'll hold him in Jayne's bunk. Doctor, you're gonna be on the bridge sat next to the remote airlock controls. First sign of trouble, I want you to seal us up and disengage from his ship."

Simon was shaking his head, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You're not seriously going to bring that man aboard this ship."

Mal met his gaze evenly. "Decision's been made, Doc. Now hop to it."

Simon sat for a few moments, and then stood from his chair, seeing he was not going to win the argument. "Alright. But this is a bad idea. I'm going on the record now and saying this is a very bad idea."

"Duly noted," said Mal quietly, knowing that the doctor was right.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Through the small window built into the airlock, Mal could make out the approaching bulk of the Operative's vessel loom larger and larger until an impact was imminent. He nervously clutched at the pistol in his hand thinking, not for the first time, that he was going to regret this. That was an _Operative_ he was letting on board his ship. The same one that had participated in the events that destroyed Serenity. What was he thinking?

He shook off the feeling of dread. He was in control, he reminded himself. There would be someone with the Alliance agent at all times, and he knew that there was no possible way that the Operative could escape from the ship when he was locked in a bunk with at least five people standing between him and the nearest exit. But he had no further time for thought, because with a gentle rumble the other ship had docked with the Firefly.

After a pregnant pause, the airlock hissed open slowly and malevolently, the atmosphere from both ships mingling for the first time. The inner hatch rolled open following the motion of the outer door, and stopped when there was a gap of three feet for the newcomer to walk through.

He emerged slowly, walking calmly from his vessel onto the Firefly with his hands held wide, showing that he had no weapons to hand. Mal raised his pistol and aimed it squarely at the Operative's forehead, seeing out of the corner of his eyes Jayne and Inara following his lead on either side of him.

When the man had walked six feet into the cargo bay, Mal gestured towards him with the pistol. "That's close enough," he said as authoritatively as he could. With a smirk, the Operative stopped walking.

"Nice ship," he said. "Where did you pick it up? I'm in the market for something new myself."

"You know where we got it," said Mal evenly. He knelt and picked up the shackles Andrews had found in one of the supply crates provided by his organisation. Tossing them to the Operative, he nodded at the metallic bindings. "Put them on," he ordered.

The Operative smiled again, as if this were all some enormous joke. He leisurely stooped and retrieved the restraints, looping them around either wrist and forcing them closed by depressing the mechanism against his chest. Then he knelt, fixing the other two coils around his ankles. A short chain joined the two sets of manacles, so that he had to stoop when he stood again. He gazed at Mal.

"Anything else?" he asked.

Mal said nothing, walking towards the Alliance agent with his weapon trained on the man. Inara and Jayne moved with him, flanking him on either side. Mal checked the restraints and just for the hell of it tightened them some more, although the action was not necessary. The Operative had already fastened them enough. Upon first appearance, he was co-operating with them.

Satisfied for the moment, Mal gestured to Jayne and Inara who relaxed slightly. He addressed the Operative.

"So where's this information you promised us?"

Their prisoner nodded back towards the airlock. "On board my ship. There's a computer node attached to the main computer terminal. On it is everything I have about Project Nightmare and what the Alliance has planned for you."

"Mighty generous gift," noted Mal. "What brought about this sudden charitable mood?"

The Operative shrugged. "We are collectively the most hunted fugitives in the system. I thought we would stand a better chance of success if we pooled our resources."

Mal took in his expression. He was hiding something, but as for what it was Mal had no idea. The Captain stepped back and turned to Jayne.

"Go get that computer node, and then take it up to the bridge," he instructed. "Be careful – he might've left some other presents behind."

"Got it," said Jayne, moving towards the airlock. Mal waved the Operative forward and he and Inara started to walk the captive towards Jayne's bunk.

Minutes later, Jayne unearthed the device and took it to the bridge as Mal and Inara secured the Operative in his bunk. Upon accessing the computer node, however, all that greeted them was a wall of gibberish.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"It's encrypted," said Mal. The Operative, chained to the wall of Jayne's room, was kneeling on the deck. He looked up at Mal, almost surprised.

"Of course it's encrypted."

Mal's eyes shone with fury. "What in the good gorram am I supposed to do with an encrypted computer node?" he demanded.

"Well, the idea is that I don't sell you everything I know right away," informed the Alliance agent, as if he was talking to a child. "Otherwise I'd have no bargaining chip and you could kill me immediately. The encryption algorithm is layered in such a way that I can tell you the appropriate code that will reveal certain information to you, but not all. Eventually you will have full access to the device, however that time will not come for a while." He looked almost apologetic. "I'm sorry if you were expecting a quick fix of data, however that would leave my position severely compromised, and that would be unacceptable."

Mal glowered at their new captive. "Your position is already severely compromised. It just so happens that we have a genius on board, capable of breakin' your encryption. And did you take two seconds to think what we'd like to do to you after what you put us through? I'm willin' to bet that all the information on that node is up in your brain anyhow. While Cullen sits breakin' through your barriers of code, you'll be in good company, so don't think we'd let you sit down here all alone and bored." He banged on the wall, and the hatch popped open. Zoe and Jayne descended the ladder and looked appropriately menacing behind the Captain. Mal smiled at the Operative. "You kids have fun now."

He climbed the ladder with a smug expression on his face, leaving Zoe and Jayne to their devices. The hatch swung closed, leaving the three people alone together in the room.

The Operative just stared at Zoe, looking almost amused. She returned his gaze with a contemptuous expression.

"You find somethin' funny 'bout this? Cause I guarantee you won't be laughin' soon."

He said nothing. Zoe started to move closer to him, her eyes dangerously narrow. Her hand moved to her belt and closed around the grip of a long knife, which she unsheathed slowly with a steely hiss. Still he did not move or react in any way.

Zoe surged forward, grabbing the man by his hair, the blade flashing to his throat. She pressed against him, the knife almost finding purchase as it started to cut through his skin, and she felt her anger flow to the surface.

"Still think it's funny?" she demanded, and this time the Operative responded to her.

"I know what she told you, Zoe."

The words took a moment to sink in; confusion, stark realisation and terror washing over her face in waves. Anger replaced the other emotions and she pressed the blade even closer against his flesh.

"What did you say?" she asked dangerously.

"I know what she told you. Granted, it took me a while to figure it out, but I got there in the end. The one thing you are unable to act against, despite any misgivings you might have. Your greatest weakness." His eyes sought out Jayne, who had been unusually withdrawn during the exchange. "Her husband, Jayne. Zoe was told that he's still alive. Just in case you were wondering."

Zoe's anger became a frown as she realised that there was more going on between the Operative and Jayne than first appeared. She backed away from their prisoner, holding the blade low in front of her. Jayne made no move to act against her, however.

"Oh, Zoe," said the Operative reproachfully. "Come now. We are all friends here. Aren't we Jayne?"

"Thick as thieves," mumbled the other man.

"See? He isn't going to do anything unless I tell him to. For the purposes of bringing everyone up to date, he's being so co-operative because I implanted an explosive device just below his shoulder blade. His right, if I recall correctly. And although he might be slightly lacking in brains, Jayne is smart enough to deduce that I would not have set foot on board this ship unless I could still activate that device. Right, Jayne?"

"That's what I was thinkin'," confirmed Jayne. The two members of the crew stared at each other uneasily, becoming aware for the first time that they were both victims of the same circumstance. They were both being used as pawns in a game being played out between two dangerous opponents, and though different things were being held against them, both felt equally powerless in the struggle. An odd sense of relief flowed through them, as they knew for a fact that this situation was finally _real_ – it was no longer just in each of their minds, gnawing away at their thoughts. Something was finally happening, and they might see a resolution to all of this posturing soon. Even if that end were death, at least it would be an end.

Zoe was glaring at him. "Why are you here?" she demanded.

"To get reinforcements," he said. "Things are coming together, and although I am reasonably certain that my plan will succeed, I require the services of more than one person. Namely, you two."

"Why would I help you?" spat Zoe. The Operative grinned.

"Because my mission is to kill the woman holding the life of your dead husband against you."

"Good luck with that," she retorted. "You're not gonna be doin' much killin' chained up in here."

"Yes, but…you're going to let me go once we reach Londinium. And you're going to do that, Zoe, because she wasn't lying to you. Wash is very much alive. And I know where he is."

"Like hell you do," she returned. He rolled his eyes.

"We can perform this little exchange all day, Zoe. But I anticipated your reaction and planned around it. I am willing to provide you with your husband _before_ you do anything for me. A good will gesture, if you like to think of it that way. I know that my female counterpart likes to do things the other way around, but under the circumstances I'm willing to give a little leeway."

Zoe didn't answer him, her eyes calculating. Jayne shuffled on his feet at the far side of the cabin, his face confused.

"Wash is alive?"

"In a manner of speaking," said the Operative. Zoe's grip on the knife tightened.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I wouldn't classify his existence at the present time as 'life.' I'm sure you have been provided with evidence showing what is happening to him."

"Where is he?" asked Zoe.

"On Londinium," came the reply. Zoe's expression spoke volumes.

"That's a mighty coincidence," she commented.

"Don't be so naïve," retorted the Operative, disgust creeping into his voice. "Hasn't it occurred to you yet that all of this has been planned out from the very beginning? That you are headed to Londinium right now for the express purpose of completing your shady bargain with the Alliance?"

"What do you mean?" asked Zoe, doubt starting to fester within her. The Operative rolled his eyes.

"Roderick Myers? Does the name ring any bells?"

"One or two," muttered Jayne.

"You are being lured to Londinium for one purpose alone – so my former compatriot can smoke me out and eliminate the threat I present to the Alliance. She is going to use the leverage she has against you and your fellows to further that end. However, I've beaten her to it. I got to you first."

"What's so important about Roderick Myers?" Zoe asked. "Why does one name alone mean a confrontation between the two of you?"

The Operative pursed his lips, as if deciding whether or not to explain the situation to her. In the end he relented and began to talk.

"As an Operative, I have no name. No rank. No formal identity. I don't exist. Neither does anyone else who holds the same title. We are ghosts; taking care of the dirty business the Alliance can absolutely not be traced or linked to, under any circumstances. Do you see? We are the ultimate insurance policy. If we do not exist, how can the Alliance be held accountable for our actions, even though they are carried out at their behest?

"However, unfortunately for them, it works both ways. What happens when an ordinary citizen commits a crime? An arrest warrant is drawn up and distributed across the various law enforcement agencies throughout the system. What happens when you don't pay your taxes? A bill is created and sent to you, detailing the amount and threatening court action."

"What happens when you accidentally stumble across a conspiracy set up by the government?" stated Zoe pointedly, and the Operative nodded.

"Exactly. You become the most wanted fugitives alive. When an Operative crosses the Alliance, however, once he or she escapes from their immediate grasp…how can the Alliance track them down? The only possible way is to have an image of the Operative and scan every security checkpoint in the system, but as you can imagine, that process is far too vast to ever yield any profitable result. Besides which, an experienced Operative would not be so stupid as to actually appear on any security feeds."

"So you're untraceable, and the other Operative is using us as bait to draw you out," summarised Zoe. He nodded.

"Correct. But I'm not going to allow her to do that. By coming here, I have pre-empted her plan. I'm going to free your husband from his captivity, thus freeing you of your obligation to her. I already have Jayne's loyalty – I know he would choose survival over money any day. In return, you will aid me in completing my revenge against the woman."

"What did she do to you that was so bad?" asked Jayne almost meekly. The Operative deigned to look at the other man.

"She discarded me as though I were nothing. All those years of service, for nothing. I disavowed my very existence to serve the Alliance, and that pledge was dismissed almost out of hand. She is the embodiment of everything that they have done to me, and once she is dead, then the rest of the Alliance will fall."

The righteous fire in the Operative's eyes as he spoke made Zoe tremble. He meant every word he said. He would find a way to topple the Alliance, or he would be consumed trying. And the scary thing was, Zoe felt as though he could do it. He was their worst nightmare – a living weapon trained to carry out their will, rising up against them. He knew every weakness inherent to their system, and would remorselessly exploit every one of them to fulfil his end.

"What's the plan?" she asked, subdued. If he really meant to destroy the Alliance, and she couldn't believe the thought was crossing her mind, then it seemed that it would make sense to pool their efforts. If nothing else, it would not hurt to know his course of action.

"Wash is being transported to Londinium as we speak. The vessel carrying him will reach the planet approximately three hours before this ship arrives, and then he will be transferred to a convoy of land transports and ferried across the surface to the Operative's base of operations. This is the point at which the target will be weakest, and my plan is to attack the convoy as it passes through Mithras."

Jayne blinked, and Zoe gave a start. "Mithras," she said. "As in, the capital city of Londinium? The centre of the Alliance's power?"

"It's also home to the highest concentration of military and law enforcement personnel per square mile in the system," provided the Operative helpfully. "Yes. That Mithras."

"Are you insane?"

"That's a valid question," he said. "To be honest, I'm not sure any more. However I know that an attack on that convoy will free your husband and create a big enough distraction to draw the target's attention away from my true objective – to kill her."

"Yeah, but…I mean, that's the _plan_, but what will actually happen is that we'll die," stated Jayne. The Operative smiled.

"The convoy consists of three Barracuda class armoured transports, the middle vehicle containing the prisoner. A surprise attack will completely destroy the forward vehicle, and I can provide circumstances that will delay the third. That leaves one transport, manned by four guards and a driver. The prisoner compartment is heavily shielded, meaning that anything short of a class four demolition charge won't even put a scratch on the paintwork. The attack will be completed even before anyone can respond to their distress signal."

Zoe was analysing the information provided, but Jayne had happened across a missing detail. "Won't the prisoner chamber be locked?" he asked triumphantly, exposing the ultimate weakness in the Operative's plan.

Or so he thought. The Operative nodded.

"Yes. But I happen know the code."

"How will we get away?" asked Zoe, already at the next stage of her scrutiny.

"I'll arrange for an extraction to be made."

"Not good enough. You could string us out to dry – while you're off takin' out your target, you could leave us makin' a nice big distraction for you to take advantage of. What's to say you don't just leave us?"

"There will be an unmarked transit vehicle painted blue parked along the same street as you carry out the attack. It will only respond to your voice, Zoe. You can test the vehicle before you initiate the assault, ensuring your escape route."

If what he was saying were true, then she was under no obligation to carry out the attack. Once every factor had been considered beforehand she could make the assault, and if circumstances were favourable then she could spring Wash – if he was even on that transport – and get away, returning to the ship in time to make a hasty escape. She need not ever see the Operative again – either of them – and will have her husband back without giving either of them any kind of material assistance.

She eyed him dangerously. "If you're lyin' to me…" she threatened. He merely laughed.

"If I'm lying then we both know you will be dead before you realise it. But that's the point, isn't it? I could have planted a spatial mine directly along your flight route, destroying the ship and everything on it. Instead, here I am. The decision is yours now, Zoe."

She didn't need any further encouragement. "I'll do it," she said. "Not because you asked me to, or for revenge, but for him. Don't expect that we're friends after this is all over, and don't be countin' on me for help of any kind once we're done. When I have Wash back…I'm cleanin' my hands of this whole business. I don't want nothin' more to do with it. You understand?"

"Perfectly," said the Operative. He returned his gaze to Jayne. "Now. Your Captain thinks that we've been down here engaging in a heated debate as to whether or not I am going to give up my knowledge regarding the encrypted computer node I have supplied you with. Let's make sure he continues having that impression, shall we?"

Jayne smiled, cracking his knuckles. He stepped forward towards the shackled man and clenched his fists. "With pleasure."

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Mal lounged idly in the pilot's seat, staring at the passage of space around him. Something wasn't right about this whole situation. He was missing something – that indefinable feeling in his gut that he was doing the right thing. He was flying blind, in a strange ship, under a foreign flag, and nothing was as it should be.

He sighed slowly, letting the air leave his body meditatively. The one thing that redeemed him about the situation, even despite everything that had gone wrong, was that they were all still together.

At least he still had his crew.

_A/N:_

_Thank you, MAndrews, for your review._


	21. Day Nine: Equinox

**Day Nine**

**Equinox**

"Londinium," announced Andrews grandly as the gentle oval of the planet's halo filled the forward screen, the sun lighting the very edges of the planet's atmosphere until they burned. The dark side of the planet was laced with arteries of light, feeding the human presence on the surface as if it were a living organism. The Firefly was flying against the orbit of the planet, meaning that for them, unlike the inhabitants of the capital planet of the solar system they were directly above, the sun was rising on the horizon. "Shining beacon of hope and oppression for the rest of the civilised universe," completed Andrews.

His words, meant to be sarcastic, were an accurate reflection of the minds of the crew. On this planet rested all of their hopes and fears about the future, and each knew that somehow they would find some kind of peace here – or rather, that some of their questions would be answered. And oddly, that hope also sealed their doom, because finding them fulfilled would likely mean doing things they would rather not. It was fitting that their path had taken them to the heart of the Alliance in order to seek a resolution to the tangled web they had found themselves in.

Mal leaned forward, his hand wrapping around the shoulder of the co-pilot's chair meditatively. If he was wrong, then they would explode before he had a chance to think, however he was sticking by his gut feeling that they would not encounter trouble. At least, until they had found Roderick Myers, or what the name represented at the address they had unearthed. So far his gut was being proven correct. A standard communications protocol had been initiated by traffic control and they had entered the queue down to the planet using the falsified identity records provided by Major Graham, but otherwise they hadn't heard a peep from the surface.

The silence was, Mal thought, disquieting.

"You all know what we have to do?" he asked of the others. A humbled chorus of affirmatives responded, and he knew he didn't have to go over the plan for the hundredth time. He alone would walk right up to the address on the surface and knock on the front door while the others took up flanking positions. They didn't question his logic this time – they all seemed to know that this was their best and only option. If his gut feeling was correct, then whatever was driving him towards that address and that name would not allow anything to interfere. Once he was inside, then he was on his own.

He had left Zoe with the Operative, knowing that Jayne would probably fall for one of the man's mind games if left unattended. Zoe, he knew, was immune to such mental coercion.

The comms panel beeped again, and Andrews began their descent. As they sloped down towards the surface, Mal squeezed the chair again. There was nothing left to do but bite the bullet now. One way or the other, he would have his answers soon.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

The new Firefly had come equipped with a number of useful items, however this did not stretch to include a mule, which meant that they were all walking across Mithras. Leaving Zoe with the Operative and Jayne keeping an eye on Oaty and Cullen, Mal was disembarking surrounded by Simon, Inara and Daniel Andrews. While ordinarily he would have taken his first mate the big ape with him on such a risky outing, there was an even greater danger leaving the Operative, the Hunter and the Package all but unguarded. And for another reason, too – if things went belly up for those who had left the ship, he knew he could rely on Zoe to take over the ship and the mission. In his absence, she would do the right thing. That, and he wasn't one hundred percent confident that Jayne hadn't been approached and was to some degree co-operating with the Alliance. If the Operative really had been outcast from the fold, then there shouldn't be any problem with Jayne being manipulated by him, but on the off chance that something went down, he trusted Zoe to put a bullet to Jayne, should he try and betray them. That, and he had taken some other precautions towards the mercenary.

All of which meant that he had to take Andrews with him – not an ideal scenario, but he couldn't leave with just the Doctor and the Companion. At least Andrews seemed semi-proficient in the art of war, even if he was not entirely trustworthy just yet. Though Mal still held reservations about what the man was hiding, the longer he had been around the New Independent, the more he found himself accepting him. He hated himself for it, but the simple fact of the matter was that he was shorthanded, and Andrews had a pair of hands to help out with. If he looked at it that way, then the outcome was inevitable.

The four walked down the ramp of the ship as it finalised its descent, and Mal was again struck by that odd mixed feeling of being home and finding himself somewhere completely alien. He tried to shake off the emotion, but as always it remained lurking at the back of his mind, waiting to pounce on his conscious train of thought when he least expected it.

They had been allocated a spot in one of the larger docking platforms, much to Mal's dismay. A larger port meant a larger security detachment to escape from, but it wasn't as if they could ask for another place. The sky above them swirled with ships of all classifications, all headed towards some unknown destination. Mal noted that most of the vessels here seemed to be planetary skimmers, incapable of breaking clear of Londinium's atmosphere. Below the gaggle of swirling activity rose the impressive landscape of a Core World – though in Mal's eyes, once you had seen one skyline of skyscrapers, you had seen them all.

"You been here before?" he asked of the assembled crowd, and all but Andrews nodded. It made sense – Mal himself had only visited Londinium once before, and that was only because he'd had no other choice. Much like this occasion.

"It's much like any other Core World," said Simon to Andrews. "Although obviously a lot busier. It has been heavily industrialised and the entire planet has been extensively terraformed to a climate almost identical to that of Earth. The seat of the government lies here in Mithras – it's located in that large tower on the left." He pointed to the building that, though it must be miles away, surpassed the height of the towers surrounding it to loom over them, as if by being taller it could dominate them more easily. Mal thought it suited the Alliance modus operandi well.

"We need to follow Thirty-Second to the junction of Forty-Third," said Inara, referring to their destination. "If we head east from there and then break north onto Fifty-Seventh, it should only be a short walk to the complex, and whatever is inside the address."

Upon further investigation carried out on the ship's database, the address in Myers' personnel file had been found to be in the centre of a residential complex in the core of Mithras. Mal didn't know what he had been expecting – an underground base; government offices; an abandoned factory; a storage locker at a spaceport – but a run-of-the-mill apartment definitely wasn't it. What it did do was increase the feeling of unease about him exponentially. The worst part about this plan was how aware he was that it was such a bad plan, but knew he had to do it anyway.

He turned away and started walking away from the ship, and with every step he felt sicker. Something very bad was about to happen, and here he was walking like a moron directly towards it. He tried to tell himself again that it was his only course of action, but even that knowledge couldn't erase the sentiment of Simon's words – _this is a very bad idea._

"Y'all know what you're supposed to be doin'?" he asked again of the others, and he received muted nods in reply. Seeing that they weren't going to help him take his mind off the situation by engaging him in conversation, he turned to gaze at the cityscape.

He could see the skyline because the port, through necessity, was a wide, open area. Though some ports were placed high in the air even above some skyscrapers, the one they had landed on was one of the original landing platforms created on Londinium, and was therefore on ground level. The sun was reaching lower on the horizon, meaning they only had an hour or so of daylight left. It was winter here, though through terraforming the weather was never abysmal on Londinium; however, it did mean that the days were shorter, and so the sun was setting just after the heavy traffic rush that signified the end of the working day. They walked now towards one of the access points to the streets beyond the port past various vessels that had landed on the planet.

They approached the security checkpoint. After giving a cautionary glance back to the others, Mal produced his fake ID and handed it to the guard checking the cards, looking him straight in the eye as he did so. The man gave the card a cursory inspection, added the picture to his short-term memory, checked it against Mal's face, returned the card, waved him on and promptly forgot his existence. A few moments later and they had all made it through the checkpoint and were standing on the exit ramp down to the main streets. Mal recalled a time they dared not approach planets with even a mild Alliance presence in fear of attracting attention to the sibling fugitives they had picked up, and by all rights that feeling should be increased tenfold now, but it just wasn't there. Making it through the checkpoint intact reinforced his conviction that someone out there was lending them all a hand in their journey towards Myers; however, what that end was still eluded him.

It couldn't be death, because by now they could have been buried six feet under a dozen times or more. Could they all be being used for some other end? Something that required that they live this long and travel to Londinium? That opened such a vast multitude of potential paths that it didn't warrant thinking about. Although…the most likely option would be that it was something that the Alliance couldn't do themselves – something that required the presence of outsiders. Something that not even an Operative could do. Maybe even something that only Mal and his crew could accomplish…

He shook his head, dismissing the idea. No use wondering now – likely he would find out exactly why he was being driven to the planet before long, and then all of his pointless wondering would be rendered void.

He narrowed his eyes as they turned onto Thirty-Second. _Was_ he being driven? As far as he was aware, there was no one pointing a gun to his head and forcing him along this street to his destination. There was no life or death decision to be made – just the opposite. If anything, he would classify his need almost as idle curiosity. Why, then, was he here on a Core World, risking his and the others' lives on nothing more than a gut feeling and a vague suspicion?

Because he _had_ to know, he realised. All along he had been reaching the same conclusion – that since they had blasted away from that moon, things had been a little too easy; a little too quiet. He knew it was not his imagination. He had been on the run from the Alliance before, for much more trivial crimes than crossing an Operative and uncovering a vast conspiracy, and had encountered graver resistance. Simply hiding in the Black for a few days wasn't enough to evade the Alliance Navy, especially under such dire circumstances. When they had ventured back into normal space, they had encountered no Alliance ships _whatsoever._ Even here, on a Core World, they had not been stopped for any kind of search, and he had just walked through one of their security checkpoints.

All of that meant one thing – someone was allowing them easy passage through the system, steering him gently towards this final objective. So why indulge this shadowy entity? Because, he realised, he had no other choice. If he didn't play along with the game, then he ceased to be useful. The walls would close in on him, a dozen Alliance cruisers would appear on the screens, and it would be over for all of them. At least this way he might retain some element of control – even if it was entirely illusory – and just might find a way to break free of the situation, other than hiding out in the Black for eternity.

Of course, there was no concrete evidence to support any of this supposition, but the pieces fit, and if Mal trusted one thing, it was his gut instinct. After all, it had gotten him this far through life – he didn't see any reason to give up on it now.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"I'd say it was about time, don't you?" asked the Operative. Zoe glared darkly at him from across Jayne's cabin, reluctant to act now that the moment was upon her. The Operative sighed, his face still bloodied and bruised from their fake interrogation. "Zoe, this is what it boils down to. Do you want to see your husband again, or not?"

She scowled again, but deep down she knew the answer to the question, and that she was going to co-operate. She stood up slowly, and begrudgingly she started to unlock and peel away the layers of manacles holding the Operative captive.

He stood up and away from the bulkhead, rubbing his wrists to promote the flow of blood back into his hands. He addressed Zoe without even looking at her.

"Go and get Jayne."

Without warning, Zoe had grabbed the man by his shirt and slammed him back into the bulkhead, hard. She got right up into his face and hissed dangerously at him. "Don't think 'cause of our little arrangement you can order me around like a slave. I'll follow your lead as if this was an operation, but you can forget about the attitude. If you even look at me the wrong way again, I'll slit your throat."

The Operative was smiling sardonically. "Point taken, but you do realise that in order for this…operation…to succeed, we need Jayne, and I don't know where he is, and you do. So…go and get Jayne. Please."

Zoe glowered at him and released the man, walking towards the ladder at the other side of the small room. The Operative tagged along behind her, and they scaled the exit of the bunk, emerging in the corridor leading from the bridge to the mess hall.

Zoe could see that Jayne had followed her instruction and stayed in the mess hall, where he was currently stabbing an innocent piece of bread with a kitchen knife. He nodded tersely at the pair of them as they approached him – words did not seem to be necessary between the three of them. They each acknowledged that this was, at best, an arrangement of mutual benefit and no more. There was no need for small talk or chitchat. They were going to get the job done, and nothing more beyond that.

"Zoe?" came a voice from the doorway, and she looked up to see Cullen standing there, a distraught look upon his face. She moved towards him as he carried on speaking. "Shouldn't he be locked up?"

"It's okay," she said, pushing him gently away from the mess hall. "We need to go and take care of some business, but we'll be back shortly."

"But…" he said, his eyes finding the Operative. Zoe went to try and further mollify him, but their former captive began to speak instead.

"Cullen Sheridan?" he asked, and the young lad nodded. "Well, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. From your perspective, that is; we _have_ met before."

Cullen's eyes widened. He had no memory of arriving on board the ship he woke up on, and was eager to discover the cause behind his missing time. He had no recollection of ever meeting this man before now, and as a result his curiosity was truly piqued. "We have?"

The Operative nodded. "Your condition at the time prevented us from engaging in any meaningful conversation, but we have certainly encountered each other. In fact," he said slyly, knowing exactly what to say to the youngster, "I am the one who caused you to end up with these people."

A thousand questions immediately bubbled up inside Cullen, and he simultaneously burned with curiosity and scoffed at the notion of this stranger – who he had gleaned was some kind of agent working for the Alliance – having anything to do with him.

Strangely, though, the question that emerged from his lips was, "What am I?" He puzzled himself with the phrase, and he could see that at least Zoe was affected by his choice of words. She looked away from him, refusing to meet his eyes, and it was then he started to fear that these people had kept something important from him; a vital piece of knowledge that would explain everything about his situation. He started speak again, but the Operative cut off any further questions.

"I pre-empted this. The computer node I brought with me isn't what Mal thinks it is. On it you will find the answers to all of your questions; most importantly, what you are. Now if you'll excuse us, we must be leaving."

He went to walk away, but Cullen placed himself in the Operative's path. "Wait a second. You could just tell me right now the answers to all of my questions, and…"

"The knowledge most rewarding is that which is earned," said the Operative. "I promise you, Cullen, that I am not lying to you. Unlock the computer node, and your true nature will be revealed to you."

He turned and nodded at Zoe and Jayne and they filed out of the mess hall, leaving a subdued Cullen behind. Jayne stepped closer to the Operative as they walked away.

"What was all that about?" he asked, and the Operative snorted.

"I knew he'd guzzle up all of that ambiguous nonsense. He was right, I could have just told him, but you and I know what he is and that is enough. We have an operation to complete." He turned to Zoe and forgot all about Cullen. "We need weapons. Where did you store the contents of my ship? I have a gift for Jayne."

Jayne's grin nearly split his cheeks, so wide it was. He was going to get Vera back.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Inara tapped Mal on the elbow and, snapping out of his reverie, he realised they had reached the junction they needed to turn on. She guided him and the others around the corner onto Forty-Third from the much quieter Thirty-Second, sweeping into the crowd of people swarming along the sidewalk. Beside them, ground vehicles ferried their drivers several feet at a time before having to stop again, the typical rush hour traffic of Mithras allowing nothing more than a stop-start-stop again motion. Although he knew it was rude to the others, he settled back into his silent brooding. That is, he would have, but someone walked into his shoulder hard, spinning him about in surprise.

"Watch where you're going," sneered a haughty Core World type. Mal, determined to reach his destination without incident, had even turned halfway to just moving along without responding, when the man added a further barb to his scathing comment. _"…Browncoat."_

Mal stopped in his tracks. He had almost forgotten about that – his customary long, brown coat would not be a welcome sight on a Core World, the centre of everything the Independents had opposed. He felt his blood start to boil, and before he could stop himself, he was smirking back at the aristocrat and picking at the coat draped across his back.

"Well…you know, would you look at that!" he said, in feigned surprise. "My coat appears to be _brown!_ Inara, did you notice that? That my coat is brown?"

Inara stared uneasily back at him, willing him to stop with her eyes, and though he knew he should, Mal just couldn't help himself. He had suffered too much at the hands of the Alliance to just walk away from the insult.

The man was scowling at him. "Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit," he reminded Mal, who nodded as if some sage advice had just been delivered to him.

"Uh huh. They do say that. They also say, shut the hell up and walk away. At least," he said, taking a step towards the Core Worlder, "Where I come from. Suppose you'll have a problem with that, too?"

"Your common form of address, or your place of birth?" sneered Mal's new nemesis, returning the challenge of Mal's step forward with his own. "No wait, don't answer. My ears might start to bleed with whatever poisonous barb you return. I am after all clearly no equal to your graceful wit."

"Might wanna start takin' that advice, friend," said Mal dangerously. "I'm in no mood to play this game. Just be on your way and we won't have no trouble."

"You _are_ trouble," returned the citizen. "You and all the other low-life, pond scum Fringers like you."

Mal punched him, right in the jaw. The exchange didn't warrant it, but Mal knew a fight was coming and he was itching to vent his nervous energy on something, anything, or anyone. The citizen flew back at Mal and the exchange quickly degenerated, both of the men falling to the ground and rolling around on the permacrete sidewalk.

Within moments several police officers had materialised from nowhere and swarmed the fight, breaking the combatants apart. They hauled Mal and the offensive citizen to their feet. Mal felt a sinking feeling in his chest as he realised what he had done; effectively ruining their chances right at the final hurdle.

The officer holding the citizen shoved him roughly against the wall, and started to restrain his hands behind his back. His face filled with outrage immediately.

"What do you think you're doing?" he called, attracting the attention of the crowd buzzing around them. The officer did not respond, other than to read aloud the citizen's rights.

"You have the right to remain silent…"

"But I didn't do anything!" cried the man. "It was him! He attacked me! That Browncoat!"

The officer nearest Mal shot him a glance, and the Captain turned around, placing his hands behind his back, resigned to the fate he had brought upon himself.

"Let's do this the easy way, huh?" he asked of the law enforcement officer. "I bruise easy."

But the officer made no move towards Mal, watching coldly as his associate dragged the Core Worlder away from the scene kicking and screaming. His gaze returned to Mal as soon as the citizen had been withdrawn.

"Are you alright, sir?"

Mal turned back around, his hands returning to his sides, a small frown forming on his face. The officer repeated his question.

"Sir, are you alright?"

"Well I'm…just shiny," said Mal, confused. The officer nodded.

"Good. This matter will be dealt with in due time. You can move along."

The frown deepened slightly. "…Move along?"

"He attacked you, sir."

He could feel the others stirring uneasily beside him – they sensed something was wrong as much as he did. When Mal made no move to leave, the officer reiterated.

"You were the victim of an unprovoked assault. He attacked you," he said, taking a minute step forward. "Now move along," he said almost menacingly.

After a moment Mal finally responded.

"Right. Assault. Yeah. Movin' along. Goin' on our way."

He stepped slowly backwards, and as he started to leave, he realised what had happened. Not only was someone clearing a path for him through Londinium, that someone was also actively helping him towards his goal. He felt sick again and stopped walking. Suddenly he was scanning his surroundings furtively, trying to make out the shadowy figure that was stalking them. But he could see nothing through the organised chaos that was rush hour; no ground vehicles that were parked along the street could house anything more sophisticated than a pocket watch and none of the crowd seemed to be glancing over at him unduly. None of the windows of the buildings looked like they housed surveillance equipment, and no ships were circling directly above them. Inara nudged him, seeing his expression.

"What's wrong?" she asked with Simon and Andrews crowding behind her. They were beginning to attract irritated glances by the people around them for creating an obstruction. Mal shook out of it and started striding along the street towards their goal.

"Nothin'," he said. Simon was beside him, bursting with questions.

"What just happened back there, about that fight? Why could you just walk away? You attacked that man, not the other way around."

"I dunno. Short sighted officer, I suspect." Andrews' face screwed up with scepticism.

"Short sighted…? Are you being serious?"

"Shut up, Andrews," said Mal distractedly, turning onto Fifty-Seventh. "Just…shut up, will ya?"

Inara saved him, pointing further along down the street. "There it is."

The apartment complex loomed almost sinisterly up before them, and Mal instinctively knew that something terrible was about to happen. He stopped walking, frozen in place by the sight of their destination.

What was wrong with him? He never got last minute jitters, especially not like this, but a heavy feeling sat in his stomach, and his back was solid as steel with stress. He found himself biting his teeth together, and had to consciously prise them apart, not wanting to spook the others.

It was a housing complex, identical to dozens of others in this city and hundreds across the planet, but it was also unique. It was the thing that was going to hurt them, and Mal didn't know how, or even why, but he knew that it would nonetheless, and he was absolutely powerless against it.

With a great effort he started to walk again, taking the journey one step at a time. Inara was staring at him as though she thought he might collapse at any moment, so he fired a question at her to delay her commenting on his condition.

"What floor is it on?" he asked, and she didn't even have to think before she replied.

"Fourth floor, apartment seven. Mal…are you all right?"

He didn't respond to her question, because they had arrived at the main entrance to the complex. He turned to the others and tried to hide his nerves.

"You all know what to do, so let's do it."

A walk under a short arc that fed through from the street revealed a square with a garden in the middle, surrounded by small towers. The complex was constructed in such a way that the main grounds were accessible to anyone, but the small towers surrounding the square each had a secured entrance, meaning only residents could access their own building. Mal entered the appropriate building and was greeted by the locked entrance as Andrews stayed to loiter by the main entrance, and Simon and Inara peeled away to keep watch from the central garden.

Had the apartment block been of a higher class he would have had to get past a lobby guard – luckily all he had to do was catch the door as a woman left the building, laden with shopping bags. He did not attribute any worth to the woman, and therefore did not pay attention to the cascade of dark hair flowing down over her shoulders, or even consider his good fortune that someone happened to walk out of the door exactly as he arrived. He did not even recognise the woman, but then Mal had never seen the female Operative guiding his movements face to face. He nodded curtly at her as she kicked the door wider as she passed through, allowing him passage, and she smiled sweetly in return. Mal continued, oblivious to the orchestration, and promptly forgot the woman existed.

He mounted the stairs, and in parallel to his ascent his emotions started to reach a climax. As he arrived on the fourth floor, blood was pounding in his ears and an inspection of his hand revealed that he was even trembling slightly. He tried to tell himself to stop being so pathetic, but of course it didn't work. He tried to brush off the feeling, blaming it on something else, but that was a lie.

For the first time in a very long time, Mal was walking into something completely blind, and he had no idea what to expect. What was in apartment seven? A weapons cache? Incriminating evidence against the Alliance? A bomb? Was the apartment booby-trapped? Was he being framed for something?

Then the seventh door was looming in front of him, and he nearly walked away and left the whole sorry mess behind him. He realised that, rationally, that was what he should do, and perhaps that thought saved him from retreat. Mal wouldn't have gotten very far in life by acting rationally, and as if a broom had been swept across his mind, all of his doubt and fear left him and he knew that he was going to go into that apartment and find out exactly what was going on, and the consequences be damned.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

As they left Mal to walk into the apartment complex, Inara felt a little surge of triumph blossom inside of her. Finally, she could talk to someone who wasn't Mal, alone and uninterrupted. She had been waiting for an opportunity like this to arrive – it meant that she could start to unravel whatever damage the female Operative was doing, or had done, to the crew – assuming what she had been told was true.

She and Simon walked to the edge of the central garden to take up watch on the apartment Mal was headed for from the ground, and as they did Inara began to speak.

"How is River doing?" she asked casually. If Simon was being manipulated by the Alliance, then undoubtedly they were doing so because of the mysterious coma River had lapsed into just prior to their escape from the moon. His expression revealed nothing, however, and he did not meet her eyes as they walked.

"As well as can be expected, under the circumstances."

"Do you have any idea what is wrong with her?"

"No. I can only assume it has something to do with the experiments the Alliance carried out on her during her time at the Academy."

"Some kind of code word, you mean?"

This time he did meet her gaze, his eyes narrowing. "Perhaps. What made you think of that?"

She shrugged. "Last time River did something out of the ordinary – for her – it was resolved by your using a code word. I was wondering if something similar might have happened again."

Simon started to look uncomfortable. "Maybe. I mean, it's possible. I suppose."

"Do you think something might have happened to her during our escape?" Inara probed, sensing she was starting to break through whatever mental barriers Simon had placed between his sanity and his manipulation. His eye twitched visibly, and he shook his head without saying anything. Inara continued with her subtle assault.

"_Did_ something happen to River during our escape?"

Simon's mouth opened and closed, no noise escaping his larynx, and that was when Inara knew that what the Operative had been telling her the truth. She put her arm on Simon's shoulder, and they stopped walking. The words started to flow out of her like a dam had burst.

"I know, Simon. She approached me while we were on Home Base – don't ask me how she got there – but she told me that she was manipulating all of you and I knew that River would be the best way to coerce you. She said that she didn't have anything to hold against me, which is why she tried to bargain with me, but I turned her down. But the important thing now is that I know and we can work together against her. Just…tell me what she's doing to you, Simon. Tell me how I can help you."

Simon's face screwed up, all of the anguish and doubt he had been storing up over the past week boiling up to the surface all at once. Inara's heart almost broke in two to see him crumble so rapidly, to see the tears spring to his eyes, and she could almost feel the knot of emotion gather in his chest and overpower his consciousness with its intensity.

He started to talk, taking the first steps on the road to putting this mess behind them and solidifying their resolve as a unit against all comers. "Inara, I…"

But he trailed off, his eyes widening and focusing on something behind her, and before Inara knew what was happening there was a gag in her mouth, and a bag being wrenched down over her head, and a strong arm hoisting her off the ground and carrying her away. She tried to scream but the fabric stuffed into her mouth absorbed the sound. She heard an ominously familiar voice speak condescendingly as she was carried away.

"Hello again, Simon," said the female Operative's singsong voice. "I'm borrowing Inara here for a small time. If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I'll see to it that your sister's brain rots away in her skull. Just stay here like a good little puppet and tell Captain Reynolds that thugs snatched his favourite Companion. Here, this will make your story more convincing." The sound of something hard and metal hitting flesh made Inara wince, and she heard what must be Simon crumpling to the ground. "So nice to catch up. Ta ta."

Footsteps followed Inara's path, and she was unceremoniously dumped onto something with padding. Moments later she was shoved aside and a presence sat down beside her, closing the door to the car she had been dropped into behind it. The Operative's voice sounded in her ear.

"We have a lot to talk about, Inara."

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Mal raised his fist and rapped sharply three times on the door. When there was no reply, he began to consider other options. There was a small window situated next to the door, but it was nowhere near big enough for him to fit through. The rest of the front of the apartment appeared to be wall, so logically speaking, Mal had only one option left.

He raised his foot and drove it at the door just below the handle, wincing as his knee gave a twinge of pain for the first time in several days. The door held, but Mal heard something splinter in the cheap, mass produced entrance. After two more kicks the door noticeably buckled, and when he drove his shoulder at the threshold it finally gave and he staggered into the apartment.

He drew his pistol immediately, sweeping the interior of the room, and was almost disappointed.

Rather than complex banks of machinery or filing cabinets filled with classified secrets, an ordinary dwelling greeted him. A small living area gave way to an even smaller kitchen, and Mal guessed that the other two doors led to the bathroom and the bedroom. Once he was satisfied that the place wasn't going to explode, he holstered the pistol and closed the door over, hoping that no one heard his break in or that the door was not so badly damaged it would tip anyone off walking past it.

He started to rummage about the apartment, but if he was disappointed upon entry then a closer inspection made him feel positively stupid about getting so worked up about so little.

It was clear that someone lived here, and a swift inspection of the obvious hiding places revealed no secrets – there was no safe behind the tasteful modern art painting, no loose floorboards beneath the sofa and, as far as he could tell, nothing placed between the bed and the mattress that sat on top of it. He was just about to go and check if it was the right apartment when footsteps approached the door.

Mal's eyes shot about, trying to find a half-decent hiding place, but in such cramped conditions he was bound to be discovered almost immediately anyway, so he chose to simply remain in full view. The key card that unlocked the room was swept through the locking mechanism outside, the person obviously not realising that the room was already open, and then the door swung open slowly.

A young man in his mid-twenties and dressed in a business suit stood in the doorway, a small frown forming on his forehead as he realised too late that the door had been damaged. His eyes met Mal's, and the Captain smiled and waved at him. Before he could call out or run away, Mal had produced the pistol and trained it on the man.

"Nuh uh," he said, and gestured towards the sofa. Wordlessly, he swung the door closed behind him and moved slowly to the middle of the living area, an apprehensive expression dancing across his features, and he sank slowly onto the sofa.

"Roderick Myers?" asked Mal, and the man nodded slowly.

"That's me," he said cautiously, eying the weapon in Mal's hand. He waved it negligently, taking a seat in the armchair opposite the couch.

"I gotta few questions for you," he said. "First off – and I know it ain't the most important, but I'm a sucker for curiosity – why ain't you dead?"

The man's face flushed, and he looked away from Mal. He sat forward, intent now that he knew he was onto something.

"Do you work for the Alliance?"

Myers' head shot back around to face Mal. "I sell insurance," he said, and Mal noted that he had not answered his question. He tried again.

"Maybe in the Intelligence division? Nothin' like that ringin' any bells?"

"I sell insurance," said the man quietly and resolutely. Mal sat back in the armchair, the pistol resting against his knee.

"I see this is going to take a while," he said. "Maybe we shou…"

The door to the flat burst open, and the male Operative stood there, his weapon drawn and trained dead on Mal, who, entirely on reflex, managed to leap out of the chair and raise his own pistol at the intruder in time for it to be a viable defence. Shocked, he staggered back several steps before he regained his composure and squared off against the hostile presence.

Myers' face had turned deathly pale, and he stared at the Operative with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open. Without taking his eyes off Mal, the Operative gestured towards the man on the sofa, beckoning him closer.

"Roddy," he said in a flat voice. "Come over here, quickly. We're leaving."

Roderick's mouth opened and closed a few times before any sound left his lips.

"…Dad?" he asked, sunken in shock. The Operative's face remained totally impassive, his gaze never leaving Mal's.

"Roddy, there's no time for that. Stand up and walk over here towards the door. We have to leave, right now."

"But…" spluttered Roderick. "But…you're dead." Tears started to well in his eyes. "You're dead!"

"Guess it runs in the family," muttered Mal.

"Roderick, stand up _right now_," snapped the Operative, and the younger man – his son – rose to his feet, the harsh command cutting through the haze of shock. He moved towards the door, and once he had reached the threshold the Operative started to move backwards, following his child. Mal's head was swimming. A son? And where were Simon and Inara? Where was Andrews? They should have seen him coming. Never mind that, how did he get off the _ship?_ What had he done to Zoe and Jayne?

Roderick was out of the door, and the Operative paused for a moment, emotion flowing across his face for the first time upon his sudden entry. One of his trademark smirks eased across his features.

"I guess you're all alone now, Mal," he said. "Abandoned by your crew; left to die in some anonymous room in a housing complex. Is this how you saw your end? Are you happy that you're going to die like this?"

Mal's finger tensed on the trigger. "I don't plan on dyin' for a long time, Mr Myers. It is Myers, ain't it?"

Something dark flashed across the Operative's face. "It's pitiful; you really have _no_ idea what's going on, do you? Grasping futilely for scraps of information, and having no clue about the big picture. I think I like it this way. Malcolm Reynolds – death in the dark, all alone."

"No more alone than you, Myers," said Mal, trying to push the only button the Operative might have, but he started laughing.

"Exactly right – except I know that I stand alone. Where are your crew, Mal? How did I escape your ship?"

"Zoe obviously ain't as good as I thought."

He smirked again. "Zoe was the one who let me out, Mal. And before this exchange goes on any longer, I feel I have to cut it short. Goodbye, Mal."

He raised the weapon in his hand, intent on the kill, but he was crucially distracted at the last moment by his child.

"Dad!" he cried from outside, and then there was a shadow in the doorway. Before the Operative could even turn around, there was a gun pressed into the back of his neck and Andrews was taking the pistol from the Operative's hand.

"Move and you die," he said, and then clubbed the butt of his gun into the back of the Operative's head. He sank to his knees, clutching the impact area. "But I'm gonna hurt you either way."

Mal had started forward immediately, but Roderick was faster. The Operative's supposed son erupted into the room, leaping onto Andrews' back and beating at him furiously.

"_That's my dad!"_ he screamed, forcing Andrews into the wall. Stunned, the New Independent dropped both of the pistols, and the Operative's hand snatched out for one of the discarded weapons before Mal had a hope of stopping him. Completely by accident, Andrews stepped on the Operative's hand as it closed around the pistol, trapping the weapon on the ground.

Roderick continued to howl, and if they hadn't attracted the neighbours' attention by now, it would be a miracle if no one had missed their current exchange. Mal closed upon the Operative, but he had shoved Andrews away from him and rose with the weapon in his hand, his eyes set upon dealing death.

Mal slapped the Operative's hand away, sending the pistol clattering uselessly to the ground across the apartment, but the Operative returned the blow, straight into Mal's cheek. The Captain staggered sideways as Andrews rammed Roderick back into the corner of the wall, the sharp angle digging sharply into the younger man. Myers roared in pain and released his grip on Andrews, and the makeshift engineer of their new ship dived for the pistol that he had dropped. Roderick, knowing what he was planning, grappled him around the knees, and both men fell noisily to the floor, Andrews' hand falling just centimetres short of the gun.

The Operative was straight on Mal, not allowing him time to recover, and started to mercilessly rain blows down upon him. He grabbed Mal's arm and started to squeeze, twisting it so his elbow started to bend backwards against the joint. Mal grunted in pain and reflexively let go of the gun in his hand, which the Operative managed to catch in mid-air as it fell towards the ground. He twisted Mal around, holding the pistol to his head…

…Just as Andrews closed his grip around the other pistol, flipping himself over and grabbing Roderick by the hair, pressing the weapon home. There was a moment of silence, punctuated only by the heavy breathing of the four men as they recovered from the brief skirmish. Andrews and the Operative were glaring at each other, each trying to intimidate the other into backing down with his gaze alone.

"After you," said Andrews first. The Operative seemed to consider the offer.

"…No, I think you'll be tossing that weapon over here and releasing my son. Immediately."

"Guess that's where you'd be wrong," growled Andrews. "I'm still a little pissed about that whole torturing-me-for-hours thing we've got going on. And I doubt Mal means as much to me as Junior here does to you – in fact, I can guarantee it – which puts you at a disadvantage, don't it?"

The Operative pursed his lips. "I think you've forgotten who you're dealing with, Daniel. I would prefer to leave this room with my son, but if it means leaving him in here with both of your corpses, then so be it."

"Who says you're leaving?" hissed Andrews. "You and me got unfinished business."

"In which case, why would I let Captain Reynolds go? You're really not very good at this, are you?"

Mal stamped his foot down against the Operative's shin as hard and as fast as he could, bringing his head down. The Operative fired off a round into the wall, but due to Mal's quick action it erupted over his head. His elbow twisted and burned with pain, and he collapsed to the floor, dragging the former Alliance agent with him, meaning that Andrews' shots also missed their mark.

Roderick took advantage of the confusion to sink his teeth into Andrews' arm, and the man howled in pain, trying to force the supposed insurance salesman's head from its grip. Mal and the Operative started to roll around on the floor, each trying to find purchase on the other's neck.

Andrews finally succumbed to the pain and released Roderick, and the Operative seemed to sense that the moment was right when he sprang up and away from Mal, leaving the Captain scrambling on the ground with a well placed kick to the chest. He shoved Roderick towards the door, but Andrews looped his arms around the Operative's knees, bringing the agent crashing to the ground. Out of patience, the Operative reached back and drove his clenched fist directly into Andrews' nose, bringing tears to the New Independent's eyes, but still he clung onto his target.

Mal was clambering to his feet, reaching for the discarded pistol, and in a final act of desperation the Operative started to thrash about wildly, striking Andrews with his feet and his fists, and it was too much for him. With a great wrench the Operative pulled free of Andrews' grip and retreated to the door, just as Mal started towards him.

Mal produced a dazzling display of speed, but he reached the Operative a moment too late. The agent was out of the doorway just ahead of the Captain, pulling the door closed behind him, and then the threshold to the apartment had slammed shut, the damaged locking mechanism snapping closed with an audible click. Mal clutched at the handle, trying to pull the door open, but it had sealed behind the escapees.

He groaned and slumped against the barrier, frustrated that something as mundane as a locked door was barring his progress. Then Andrews was at his side, shoving him out of the way and starting to pry open the locking mechanism attached to the door.

"Where the hell in the good gorram ruttin' chou ma niao _is_ everyone?" demanded Mal, swearing profusely to relieve his tension. It didn't help considerably. "What's the point in bringin' backup if they don't actually gorram back you up?"

Andrews shrugged as best he could while juggling a handful of small wires. "No idea. He slipped right past me. Thought I'd come on up to see how you were doin' when there was no word after a while. Good job I did, huh?"

Mal almost scowled at the man, but refrained from doing so at the last moment. He _supposed_ Andrews had just saved his life, but he didn't have to be gushingly grateful about it. "Yeah, I guess. How long will you be?"

The door clicked as Andrews sparked two cables against each other. "In approximately now."

Mal swung the door open and tore out along the corridor leading to the stairs, Andrews right behind him. They bounded down the steps and Mal almost tripped straight over half a dozen dead bodies that littered the hallway – all of them wearing non-descript suits – and he was so distracted by the sight that as he continued he almost barrelled right into Simon, who was heading up towards them. Mal seized him about the shoulders.

"Which way did they go?" he barked, and Simon could only look dazedly back at him.

"What? Who?"

"That Operative and his son, Myers!"

"His son??"

Something leaked through Mal's impatience and he frowned. Simon's lower lip was pouring with blood, and there was an ugly welt on his cheek. "What happened to you? Where's Inara?"

"She's…she's been kidnapped!" said Simon quickly. Mal's eyes widened in surprise, but Andrews snarled and leaped on the doctor, forcing him to the ground and sitting on his back. Mal tried to shake Andrews off his captive, but he was shrugged away.

"He's lying!" roared Andrews. "He's been working against us ever since we were on board that troop transport!"

"_What?"_ exclaimed Mal and Simon in chorus. Mal tried to pull Andrews aside, conscious of the fact that the Operative would be getting further and further away, but the New Independent wasn't budging.

"I heard him talking to another Operative – that woman – and she said that if he didn't co-operate, she'd let River die in that coma. Tell him!" he cried, twisting Simon's arm. "Tell him or I'll kill you!"

"Alright, that's enough!" exclaimed Mal, grappling Andrews with force and heaving him away from Simon. The doctor scrambled to his feet, backing away from the raging Andrews.

"You sold her out, didn't you!?" he spat, his finger punctuating nearly every word by stabbing the air. "She told you to give her Inara and you did, didn't you!? And then told you to feed us some tsway-niou story about thugs kidnapping her! Well I'm onto you, Tam!" He turned to Mal, only slightly calmer. "This whole thing has been a set-up. We've been drawn here by the Alliance to take out their errant soldier – look at these dead guys, they're obviously Alliance Intelligence! The whole plan has worked because they've all been working against you!"

Mal flared, squaring up to Andrews. "Watch what you say 'bout my crew, _Daniel._"

Andrews almost screamed with frustration. "Are you gorram blind? Or just plain _stupid_?"

Mal punched the New Independent in the face. Andrews went down hard, staggering into the wall and falling to the ground. But when he looked up his eyes were resolute, and his expression was frozen in a glare.

"Think about it for a second, Mal! How did that Operative get past Zoe _and_ Jayne when he was tied up!? Why did he come to us in the first place!? Why are we here in this apartment building!? This is all one big mind-rut, orchestrated as soon as we got off that moon! We're rats in a maze, and don't tell me that you haven't realised it!"

Something in Andrews' words struck deep into Mal, and in retaliation Mal hit the other man again. Tears were springing to his eyes, and although he hated their observer for doing it to him, he _had_ been thinking that he was being lined up hoops to jump through for some time. How _had_ the Operative escaped from their ship? And…

He turned on Simon. "Where's Inara?" he asked in a dangerous voice. The doctor backed away, raising his hands in surrender.

"Look, Mal…" he started, and something in his voice told Mal that Andrews was right; that Simon was working against them, and that he knew something that might help them. Mal flew at Simon, grabbing him by the shirtfront and shaking the doctor aggressively.

"_What do you know? Why are you doing this?"_ he roared. In the face of such rage, Simon could only crumble – the past week's psychological torment finally crushing his emotional barriers and he fell to his knees, shielding his face with his hands.

"They're going to kill River!" he shouted in a broken voice, and then a single sob escaped him as saying the words aloud finally made the situation unavoidably, irreparably _real_. "She said she'd let River die if I don't help her!"

Simon degenerated into a series of defeated sobs; the overwhelming pressure of what he had been forced to do finally taking its toll all at once. Mal stepped back, the sight of such crushing despair subduing the rage within him. Immediately he could see that the others had been acting out of character, the answers staring him right in the face all along; Zoe becoming even more withdrawn; River lapsing into her coma just as they escaped; and Jayne, strangely, being friendlier than his normal self. Had each of them tried to warn him in their own way? How had it come to this? How had he _let_ this happen? How had it all fallen apart so completely right underneath his nose?

Irrational guilt almost overwhelmed him, but he resolved himself against it. Now was not the time to cast blame or take stock of people's mistakes. That could come later. Right now there was work to do – he had to round up his fractured crew, find the fleeing Operative and his son, and somehow escape from a Core World without being arrested or killed by the person who had created the maze for them to stumble through.

He kneeled next to Simon, who sniffed and gazed up at Mal. The Captain spoke gently to the doctor, making only a simple statement.

"Tell me everything," he said.

Simon began to talk.

_A/N:_

_Thanks you MAndrews, rpitrof_ _and Lecter for your reviews._


	22. Day Nine: Best Laid Plans

**Day Nine**

**Best Laid Plans**

Roderick ducked his head as he got into the car, climbing into the passenger seat as his father ran around the vehicle and clambered into the driver's seat. He keyed the ignition and they started away, easing into the light traffic of the road heading away from the city. Though it was rush hour, certain parts of Mithras were always light in traffic, and thankfully they had found themselves in such a place to make their escape.

"Roderick," said his father, not taking his eyes from the road. "I need to tell you a few things. I imagine this has come as quite a shock to you."

That was an understatement. Two hours ago, Roderick had been filing some paperwork, dreading the long journey home and another night spent alone in his apartment. Never in his wildest imagination would he have suspected his dead father would reappear, along with some decidedly unsavoury characters who had broken into his home.

"Do you remember when you were twelve years old? The day that I came and took you away from school and drove you here?" he asked. Roderick nodded. That few days would remain eternally burned on his memory – after all, it was the last time he had seen his father alive. Until now, anyway.

"Yes. You said it was dangerous, and that I had to come and stay with Aunt Elaine," said the younger man.

"Good. Well I think the time has come to explain why it was dangerous, and why I needed to leave you the way I did.

"As you probably remember, I was a clerk for Alliance Intelligence. Over the years I sought promotion after promotion, ultimately finding myself in a field position. That's why I wasn't at home a lot, and that's why your mother left me." When he spoke, it was without emotion, as though he was recounting the events of another person's life. Roderick didn't like that. "You were eight years old when she died, and by law responsibility for your care passed to me.

"A few years later, I was approached by the Alliance with a lucrative opportunity. I could transcend the call of duty I had offered to the Alliance and become something only a few people ever become – an Operative of the Alliance. They told me it would be dangerous, and that I would have to leave everything in order to undertake the Trials necessary to achieve Operative status. It would mean that I had to leave you behind."

"So did you say no?" asked Roderick, not registering just yet that loyalty to his family might not have overpowered the Alliance's offer. His father sighed, emotion crossing his face momentarily for the first time since they had got into the car.

"You have to understand, Roderick. My entire life had been about bettering my position within Intelligence. When someone does you the honour of acknowledging your prowess and ability, it is very difficult to say no. Additionally, I was very patriotic. I would have done anything to protect the best interests of the Alliance, especially since tensions with the Independents were rising. It was as though I had no choice but to accept.

"The only problem, said the Alliance, was you. If I became an Operative, then I would be forced to leave my entire life behind, including my identity, as well as my family."

A bad feeling was growing inside Roderick. "So…you said no, right?"

There was a pause. "No. I accepted, but I had no intention of leaving you. I took you with me in hiding and tried to care for you right under the Alliance's nose, but of course it wasn't long before you were discovered. They were furious. And in a move I found shocking at the time, but have since come to expect of Alliance Intelligence, they told me, as a test of my loyalty to the cause, that I had to kill you in order to proceed with the Operative training program, or they would kill us both."

"What? They can't do that!"

"Roderick, they can do whatever they want. They are above the law, as am I now."

"So what did you do?"

"Obviously I would never give them the satisfaction of killing you. So I enacted a plan that would serve everyone's best interests. I stole away with you on that day, and we travelled to Mithras, and I faked both of our deaths. The first was you in an explosion, so that the Alliance would think that I had killed you, and the second was my own, and that served a dual purpose. The first was to make you think that I had died and would live your life without me, and the second was so I could return to the Alliance and use the fake death as a symbol of my loyalty; that I had burned all of my bridges to the past."

Roderick's brow creased, confused. "Why didn't you just leave them?"

"…I don't think you truly understand the nature of what an Operative is. _Everything_ must be sacrificed in order to serve. At that stage, it is either the path of duty, or death. I would not allow them to be the end of me; a paradoxical statement in the sense that I had voluntarily destroyed my identity to be a part of them, however I believe that retaining a sense of ego has served me well in the end. Now I am working against them, and I think I have you to thank for that."

"Me?"

He almost smiled. "The fact that I knew you were alive and well allowed me to hold on to a small part of my individuality, rather than wholly become their instrument. I knew that you were out there, and that gave me a measure of pride; not only that I had outwitted them, but that part of my old life was still out there, evading their judgement."

"So why are you here now?" asked Roderick perceptively. His father nodded approvingly.

"Very good, Roderick. I'm here now because I am working against the Alliance, and because apparently I did not do as good a job as I thought when I hid you. I gave you a new identity and a new name – Roderick Myers, as you know, is an alias I discovered while working for the Intelligence Services. I thought that by using an Intelligence alias, that even if they investigated you they would think it some kind of undercover operation being undertaken by another division and forget about it. That's why you appear to be registered dead on the system – it's a name many agents have assumed; a shared identity, if you will."

"And so they found me."

"Yes. But they didn't kill you, because they are using you to get to me. The man you found in your apartment is called Malcolm Reynolds, and he is a victim of unfortunate circumstance. Although he has found himself in the Alliance's crosshairs completely by accident, and is largely innocent of committing any crimes, he is in possession of knowledge that could cripple the Alliance if it was ever leaked. It was my job to kill him, but he escaped from me enough times for the Alliance to disown me, going as far as to make an attempt on my life.

"The trouble is, Roddy, that an Operative has no formal identity, so they cannot be tracked down conventionally. I went dark, evading all their attempts to detect me, but I underestimated the Operative assigned to locate me. She found you, and has orchestrated a series of events that led Reynolds to you. If he had known who you really were, then likely you would be dead right now, or being held captive to be used as a pawn against me. But regardless, the point was to lure me out into the open, as I came to protect you, and then eliminate me."

"Your job is to kill people? Like those men in that stairwell?" asked Roderick, shocked. He had assumed his father was acting only in self-defence, but from what he had said, now his entire purpose was to kill. His father shook his head.

"Not now, Roderick. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?" His son nodded. "Good. Those men in the stairwell were sent to kill me, it is true, but as you saw they were no match for an Operative. The woman trying to kill me is confused now, because I have thrown a spanner in the works. I have escaped from her, but also I have intercepted Reynolds and his crew before she had a chance to, meaning that now she is unsure as to how to proceed. You see, she has another objective for Reynolds and his crew after she has taken care of me, and right now I would say she is calculating exactly how my intervention in her scheme affects it. I need to take advantage of this time and strike at her, before she regroups and plans her next move.

"Luckily I have planned for a day such as today. I'm going to take you to a safe place you will have to stay in for the next few days to ride out this situation, after which I will come for you and take you to a more secure permanent residence. It will probably mean that you will have to change your name again."

"Won't…that woman, the one looking for you – won't she come after me?" asked Roderick quietly. His father shook his head.

"After today she won't be a factor," was all he said. Suddenly he checked his chronometer and frowned at the road.

"What's wrong?" asked Roderick.

"I'm supposed to be somewhere soon. Very soon." He checked the chronometer again, and then reached a decision in his head. "I'm going to have to drop you off nearby and tell you how to get to the safe house."

"But…I want to stay with you," said Roderick immediately. "I mean, an hour ago I thought you were dead. There's so much you've missed…and I've missed you."

The car eased slowly over to the side of the road and rolled to a stop. Roderick's father unlocked the doors and leaned over, holding his son by the cheek.

"Listen, Roddy. From your perspective I've been gone for the past twelve years, but I've always been watching out for you. I know exactly what you have done since I left you, and that won't change appreciably in the future. I have this business to take care of today, and then we can take all of the time in the world to become reacquainted. Good enough?"

Roderick stared at the gear stick, not meeting his father's eyes. "Back in my apartment…you said that you'd like to leave with me, but if it meant killing those other two men and sacrificing my life, then you would do it. Did…did you mean it?" he asked, finally looking up.

The man in the driver's seat's eyes glazed over, that detached emotionless stare returning. "No, Roddy. I didn't mean it. I was bluffing."

He sat there in silence for a few moments.

"You've changed, Dad," said Roderick finally. He got out of the car.

"Get the Underground two stops north on the Northern Line," called his father out of the open window as Roderick rounded the car. "Then look for an abandoned house on Seventy-Third marked with red paint on the door. The key to get in is under the potted plant around the side of the house. Wait there for me. If I don't arrive within seventy-two hours, leave for Beylix on the next transport. There's already a ticket waiting for you at the spaceport."

Roderick nodded, and then the car was soaring away. Inside the vehicle the Operative returned, overriding whatever was left of Roderick's father, and he all but forgot about the young man walking dejectedly towards the Metro station. He had a piece of equipment to acquire, and then he would take the fight to his enemies.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"Why are they transportin' him on the ground?" asked Jayne as he and Zoe walked down Twenty-Ninth towards their ambush location. "Wouldn't it make more sense to fly him around?"

Zoe cast her eyes up at the lines of traffic flying between the buildings, almost blotting out the sky. "A few reasons. It's faster on the ground at this time of day 'cause it's rush hour. Any convoy flyin' over the city public routes needs special clearance, and Wash is probably on the system as a regular prisoner – and under another identity. The Alliance probably doesn't want anyone figurin' out that the guy they're transportin' is much more important to them than it seems."

"Oh. That it?"

"Pretty much. Only that it's probably cheaper to cart him around on the ground – government contracts and all that, sellin' to the lowest bidder."

"There," pointed Jayne. At the side of the busy road was a blue transit vehicle, unmarked, as the Operative had promised. Zoe crossed the street ahead of Jayne, waving down the traffic to make way for her. As she approached the vehicle she fingered the shotgun hidden underneath the heavy jacket she was wearing. She didn't even attract a glance from the crowd of pedestrians as she moved with them. The Operative had kindly provided them with a small arsenal of weaponry, taken from his ship, and that included returning Vera to Jayne, along with a handful of grenades.

Responding to her movement, the door of the vehicle slid open as she pressed her thumb against the locking mechanism keeping the vehicle secured. She climbed into the driver's seat and almost marvelled at the machine around her. It had been a long time since she had seen a transit vehicle like this in mint condition – industry having taken to the more efficient skies years ago.

Jayne appeared by her side as she spoke into the small microphone next to her head. The engine rumbled to life, and the small anti-gravity booster jets underneath the vehicle lifted it off the ground several feet. Zoe exchanged a tense look with Jayne, checking the time before she did so.

"Nearly time?" he asked. Along with the weaponry, the Operative had provided them with the route of the convoy, its projected times, and the location of their getaway vehicle. As well as all of this, they had detailed information regarding the number of guards and vehicles in the convoy, as well as the code that would release Wash from his captivity. Additionally, he had promised the third vehicle would be delayed at the end of Thirty-Fourth as the convoy turned onto the street they now stood on, waiting for the appropriate moment.

Zoe nodded in response to Jayne's question. She deactivated the engine, not wanting to draw any more attention than was necessary to either of them. There were approximately three minutes before the convoy was due to turn onto the street.

"Look, uh…" began Jayne, but Zoe already knew what he was about to say.

"It's okay, Jayne," she said. "Don't be worryin' yourself about how it's gonna look to the others. You're the one with the bomb in your chest, not me. I'm the one doing this out of the kindness of my heart. I'm not expectin' anyone to forgive me, but it ain't gonna stop me from goin' through with this. So you don't have to worry about me getting' the jitters. Let's get this done, get back to the ship and off this planet."

He nodded in understanding. Zoe flashed her head to the side suddenly.

"There it is," she said quietly. Three intersections to the one closest to them, the first convoy vehicle was turning slowly and ponderously onto the street in their direction. She stood from the vehicle and closed the door. "You know what to do," she said to Jayne, and he nodded, and no more words were necessary.

She moved towards the vehicles in a flanking position, leaving to Jayne to start walking up the street in the direction the convoy was travelling, as they had discussed. The convoy was moving quickly, and as the Operative had assured them, there were only two vehicles present. They sped up the street, hovering several feet above the surface of the road.

As they approached his position, Jayne unhooked one of the grenades from his belt and removed the pin. Timing it perfectly, he threw the grenade sideways and it clattered into the street in front of the first convoy vehicle. Before the driver could register what was happening, the explosive device erupted just as the transport passed over it, the force of the blast flipping it over so it landed on its roof.

The crowds of pedestrians took a stunned moment to realise what was happening and then scattered, screaming in terror after the bomb exploded. Zoe used the civilians as camouflage as she stalked closer to the second vehicle, and as she suspected they might, the guards poured out of the rear door, looking about for the perpetrator of the crime committed against the lead transport.

As the Operative had informed her, four men were casting confused looks about them, trying to see through the swirling crowds of civilians and find whoever was responsible. They didn't even see her coming.

She produced the shotgun from inside her jacket, took careful aim and fired, taking out the first guard. The other three sprang into defensive positions, but still they could not see from where the shots had been fired. Zoe pulled the trigger again, and the second guard went down. One of the remaining two spotted her and he raised his weapon to fire, but Zoe had the edge on him. Firing in rapid succession, the last two guards went down and the transport had been taken.

On the other side of the vehicle, Jayne rammed the butt of Vera into the passenger window, shattering the glass. The driver scrambled for his weapon but Jayne had tossed another grenade into the cabin almost immediately. He threw himself to the side, shouting to Zoe, who followed a similar course of action. Seconds later, the cabin erupted in flames, incinerating the driver.

Zoe was up straight away, moving with a purpose to the rear doors. She clambered inside, her heart pounding in her chest, and came face to face with the heavy door that sealed the prisoner being transported away. She fumbled with the locking mechanism, trying to punch in the code the Operative had provided to her, but she couldn't focus. Berating herself harshly, Zoe tried to get it together. Wash might be inside this cell, and he needed her now more than ever. Her hands still trembling, she began to enter the code.

"Zoe!" cried Jayne from outside. "Incoming!"

She looked up to see the ominous sight of the third convoy vehicle roaring onto the street, bulldozing civilian cars out of the way as they responded to their companion transport's automated distress signal.

"Hurry the rut up!" called Jayne as he hoisted Vera onto his shoulder, but even he knew that the weapon was no match for the armoured transport hurtling towards them. Still, he opened fire at range, hoping for a miracle.

As it sped towards the intersection between itself and the remnants of its convoy, something blurred out of the corner of the driver's eye. Something massive and black tore from the intersecting street, too fast for even reflexive action to be any use.

Jayne flinched as an even more enormous military vehicle emerged onto the crossroad, smashing the third transport up off the ground and into a furniture store at the side of the street. The building crumbled with the impact, the upper floors shaking violently from the foundations and then disintegrating as the larger vehicle crashed into the structure, moving too fast to brake before the collision. The civilians stupid enough to have stayed on the street were assaulted with dust or worse, and those remaining standing fled further away, screaming all the while. Jayne could make out several on their personal Cortex links, no doubt informing the authorities about the carnage. He guessed they had two minutes at most before the first response vehicles arrived.

"_Zoe, get it done, now!"_ he bellowed into the transport.

Zoe returned her gaze to the locking device and punched the final characters into the mechanism. For a horrible moment she thought that nothing would happen, that they had been sold out by the Operative, but then something inside the door whirred and buzzed to life. The heavy gate swung ponderously open, and breathlessly Zoe peered inside the cell, hope and fear all but consuming her.

The figure inside the cell flinched and looked up, squinting at the sudden light. His orange overalls were grimy, and blood stained his forehead. His hair was longer and unkempt, and his nose had been broken several times. But inside the cell Wash crouched, straining to see who had opened his personal prison.

With a cry Zoe flew forward, and Wash instinctively raised his hands to bat her away, thinking her a guard. She overcame his weak defence quickly, speaking to him soothingly and joyfully.

"Baby," she said. "Baby, it's me. Come on, we have to go, we have to move."

"Z…" said Wash. "Zoe?" His voice broke, as if he couldn't believe what was happening. "Is that really you?"

"Yeah, baby," she said, tears distorting her own voice, and she smothered his face with kisses. "But we need to do this later, okay? We need to run real fast right now. Are you up to it?"

"I…I think so," he said, poking his legs as if that would reveal his ability to run. "Yeah," he said, his voice solidifying in resolve. "I'm up to it."

"Good. C'mon." She pulled him to his feet and threw one of his arms over her shoulder. It was frightening to feel how weak he really was, and she pushed the thought of what he had been going through all of this time and got back into the now.

They plunged back onto the street as Jayne covered their escape, Vera held almost negligently in one hand. He gave a startled look at Wash, as if he was expecting Zoe's husband to have been absent from the transport – and who could blame him, she thought? – but he wisely kept any enquiry to himself for now.

He waved them forwards in the direction of the small transit vehicle, but something roared behind them and just as they stepped towards their escape vehicle, it blew apart in a brutal explosion, completely destroying their planned means of flight.

Zoe cast a dark look behind her to see the enormous black military vehicle that had intercepted the third convoy transport looming behind them, blocking the middle of the street, and she instinctively knew who was sat at the controls behind the darkened windows.

She had played directly into the Operative's hands – taking for granted that he had provided them with so much information and equipment to rescue Wash that something he had given might be readily taken away to meet his own ends. She recalled what he had told her before they had separated less than an hour ago - _I am willing to provide you with your husband before you do anything for me._ Sure enough, against all odds, her husband was weighing heavily against her shoulder. Now the Operative had come to collect on his end of the bargain, and he had made damned sure that she was going to deliver.

As sirens started to wail in the distance, the rear hatch to the vehicle lowered, and with that action came his offer – _come with me, or stay here and face the music._ As he had destroyed the means of their escape, and with the heaviest concentration of law enforcement in the system bearing down on her position, Zoe made the only choice possible under the circumstances. She climbed on board the transport, hauling Wash up beside her, and waved Jayne along.

As soon as his feet hit the deck of the interior, the hatch started to rise shut, and the engine roared ahead of them. Lurching backwards with the sudden momentum, Zoe fell onto one of the benches that lined the sides of the vehicle and shot a look at Jayne.

"Go see what he wants," said Zoe, and Jayne, knowing better than to disobey, started towards the front of their apparent saviour.

The vehicle was some kind of military armoured personnel carrier, with two benches lining the sides of the chamber that fed through to exit ramp. Equipment lockers lined the walls, both behind the benches and above them, and there was a small opening that fed through to the forward cabin that contained the controls to the transport. Jayne proceeded through that opening and found himself in a small chamber with the male Operative.

"What's goin' on?" he asked roughly. The rogue Alliance agent was concentrating almost entirely on the road, sparing only a fraction of his attention for Jayne.

"I hijacked this rather large vehicle so I could both assist you in your attempt to rescue Washburne and enlist you all to aid me, as we had agreed previously," he said conversationally. Jayne winced as the carrier smashed through a series of abandoned civilian cars with ease.

"Where'd you get it?" demanded Jayne. The Operative smiled.

"Weren't you listening when I outlined the nature of being an Operative? How can the Alliance revoke my access to anything when I don't exist?"

"You…you walked right into an Alliance base and…_took_ it?" asked Jayne, incredulous.

"I'm glad you're keeping up!" said the Operative almost cheerfully as the first police skimmers roared overhead, their sirens screaming down on the vehicle. "Now, please don't distract me for a few moments. I'm going to try and lose our pursuers."

Two things made Jayne feel very uneasy. Firstly, the thought of how many police vehicles must be chasing them right now finally occurred to him, and he realised that at this moment, he was the most pursued man alive – perhaps second only to the Operative sitting beside him. Secondly – and this notion made him even more nervous – was whatever methods the Operative was going to utilise to shake off pursuit.

He sank into the chair next to the man driving and strapped himself in tightly.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

The bag was wrenched off her head abruptly, and Inara squinted against the dying embers of daylight streaming through the car window, the cityscape of Mithras rolling past as they drove. The gag remained in place, and a quick glance to her side revealed the female Operative staring at Inara emotionlessly, as if she were appraising a piece of furniture.

Inara tried to speak, to demand that the Operative tell her why she had been kidnapped in such a manner, but all she could produce was a series of muffled grunts. The Operative sighed.

"Inara, please be quiet," she said in a resigned tone of voice. "I think you of all people should know by now that I will tell you what is going on when I want to – not when it is demanded of me."

Inara looked away, a chill creeping down her spine. Again, she was struck by how exactly the Operative knew what was coursing through her mind. The Alliance agent was a deadly enemy, and Inara had to carefully prepare how she was going to deal with her, or she would be easily outwitted.

_Think,_ she thought, spurring her intelligence on. The only possible reason she had been snatched like this, after a few moments consideration, was that the Operative was afraid that Inara would damage her plan for the motley band of fugitives somehow. And, in truth, she had been attempting to do just that when she had been taken away from Simon – trying to prompt him to tell her if he was being manipulated or not.

Inara looked back at the Operative to see that she had been gazing meditatively at the Companion since she had looked away. She raised her eyebrows.

"You're here because you pose a threat to me," said the Operative quietly. "Things are happening right now that I don't have full control over, and I need every errant factor locked down to ensure that I succeed. You are an errant factor. Thus, you have been locked down. I'm going to remove the gag now. Don't try anything stupid."

True to her word, the Operative leaned across the back seat and untied the rag that had been stuffed into Inara's mouth, and the Companion smacked her lips together several times on reflex, trying to regain normal feeling in them. After several moments of this therapeutic exercise, Inara tried to speak.

At first just a croak emerged, but after clearing her throat Inara could produce legible words. "How am I a threat to you?" she asked, although she already knew the answer.

"Because you know I am manipulating the others, and can act against me from inside their group," she said tiredly, waving a hand dismissively. "Please do not ask me questions below your standard of intelligence. I am not in the mood."

Inara noticed for the first time how haggard the Operative looked, and wondered how long it had been since she had slept. Perhaps not since their last meeting, and that took place over two days ago.

"On the right," said the Operative suddenly, and Inara wondered how she should respond to this statement before she realised the other woman had been addressing the bulky driver sat in front of her. The car glided smoothly to the side of the road, where it slid to a halt. The Operative looked over at Inara. "Get out."

Uneasily, Inara opened the door and climbed out of the vehicle, and the Operative rounded the car and grabbed her roughly by the arm, leading her across the sidewalk and up the steps into an impressive looking building. Though she was familiar with many Core Worlds and their landmarks, Inara frowned as they passed under a large arch and through a set of imposing doors.

"What is this place?" she asked.

"You wouldn't know about it," said the Operative shortly. An almost entirely non-descript lobby opened out in front of them – a single elevator stood at the rear alongside a battered wooden staircase, in front of which lay a long desk manned by a single security guard. His hand had tensed underneath the table, out of view, but seemed to recognise the Operative. His hand moved away from what Inara assumed to be some kind of concealed weapon or panic button, but the tension stayed within him – presumably only to leave once the Operative had.

"Tight security," muttered Inara, and her captor didn't see fit to respond to her statement. The Companion was marched to the elevator and, once the doors had opened, almost shoved inside.

"Where are you taking me?" asked Inara as the Operative pressed the button for the fifty-ninth floor.

"Somewhere secure," said the Operative. Abruptly a device hooked to her belt started to wail, and she seized it with great energy, depressing a button at its side almost savagely. "Well?" she barked.

"_He got through,"_ said a voice simply. The Operative swore under her breath. She considered for a few moments before she replied.

"You know what to do. Standard search pattern."

"_Affirmative. Out."_

The device was replaced at her belt, and the Operative massaged the bridge of her nose, obviously suffering some kind of strain. Inara said nothing, knowing it would be better if she did not antagonise the other woman while she fretted, and her hunch paid off. Suddenly the Operative was looking at her.

"I'm going to need your help, Inara," she said as the elevator doors rolled open. The Companion's snort of derision drowned in her larynx as the office floor beyond the elevator was revealed to her.

A vast expanse of complex banks of equipment stretched out before her, a swarm of technical personnel buzzing around the large chamber. The view of the city reached her eyes through the large windows opposite her, the sunset staining the room red. The non-descript lobby gave no impression of such an impressive set up on the upper floors. The workers gave no indication that they had noticed the two women arrive.

The Operative led her out of the elevator as she spoke. "I need you to stay here, shut up and not try anything stupid while I work," she said. "A lot is happening right now, and believe me, I can make your stay with me as uncomfortable as you cause me to make it. Don't make a fuss, and you will be back with your friends soon."

She was placed in a chair and one of her wrists was chained to it via a restraining mechanism. Inara said nothing. If what the Operative said was true, then she would be better off biding her time and waiting for an opportunity to escape than to actively subvert the woman in front of her.

The Operative grabbed the arm of a worker as he hurried by and muttered a series of instructions to him. He moved on as the last word escaped her mouth. Looking about her, Inara realised that it was not apathy that made the workers ignore her existence, but efficiency. They were so focussed on their work that it was as if she was not there. She was sure that the Operative would be keeping a closer eye on her.

The Alliance agent raised her voice to call over the noise created by the busy environment.

"Listen up! I want an APB put out for Roderick Myers, who is a resident here in Mithras. He is registered on the system as working for Alliance Intelligence, but this is not true. He is now a wanted fugitive of the Parliament."

One of the workers glanced up from his workstation. His cheap suit hung from his lanky frame, and his shirt looked as if it hadn't been washed for days. Maybe weeks.

"I've got his file, but there's no image here."

"You will find his image on the system, I have just uploaded it, along with other details of the fugitive. These images were taken less than an hour ago as he left his place of employment."

The worker nodded once and returned his attention to his workstation.

"I want a unit to observe an unnamed Firefly class transport that is currently landed in docking section five. No matter what the ship or its inhabitants do, I don't want any action taken against them. Our focus is Myers. Whoever observes the Firefly will keep me informed of any updates as they happen."

Another worker, a female, called out.

"I've got a disturbance in progress on Twenty-Ninth. Explosions and a high-speed collision. Several civilian casualties. A convoy en route to a navy base was intercepted, it seems."

The Operative's head snapped around so quickly Inara was amazed she had not damaged her vertebrae. "What convoy?"

"Seventy six," came the immediate answer. "Three vehicles transporting a known terrorist for further…"

"I know what's in the convoy," snapped the Operative. "Disregard the priorities I have just assigned you. The most important thing is to stop the man responsible for attacking that convoy. The other orders still stand; but give the convoy attack your focus."

"There was no mention of a man carrying out the attack," said the woman, frowning at her computer. The Operative scowled.

"Don't question my orders. The person responsible is a man, and he will be inside a commandeered military vehicle. Do whatever it takes to stop him."

The woman stared out of the window for a few moments, and Inara could almost hear the cogs whirring around inside her skull. Her eyes flashed from side to side, as if they were scanning lines of information. She wheeled around and stormed towards Inara all of a sudden. The Companion instinctively tried to rise out of the seat to evade that force of rage seething towards her, but all that happened was that the Operative seized her wrist and disengaged the lock of the mechanism keeping her there.

"You're going to help me now," hissed the Operative, leading her with force towards a bank of equipment.

"Who is Roderick Myers?" demanded Inara. "Why are we involved with him?"

"That will become obvious shortly," said the Operative. She positioned Inara in front of the apparatus. "Stand there."

"This is your plan, isn't it?" rushed Inara. "You brought us here by feeding us crumbs of information, and it all has something to do with Roderick Myers. You knew Mal wouldn't be able to stay away. Who is he? What has he got to do with us?"

The Operative glared at Inara. "The rogue Operative's son. Myers is his son. He thought he had hidden his spawn well, but a minimal amount of investigation revealed his whereabouts. I couldn't go after him directly, but I was able to engineer a plan that meant I could draw out the Rogue without exposing myself directly."

"You mean if the Rogue found out that Mal was sniffing around his hidden child, he would come to protect him?" stated Inara.

"Yes. And then I would take that moment to strike."

Inara frowned. "Didn't that just happen? Wasn't Myers at his home?"

The other woman scowled, manipulating the controls of the workstation. "Yes. The plan isn't proceeding as smoothly as anticipated. He evaded my attempt on his life and is now at large. Which is where you come in."

"Why would I help you?" spat Inara. The Operative rotated a monitor to reveal a sensor grid of the city.

"This red dot is the Rogue," she said, pointing at it on the monitor. It was surrounded by green dots that Inara guessed were the famed legions of police that guarded Mithras. "I need you to tell Reynolds to stay away from him, no matter what happens. I can't risk his safety, not now."

"I'm not sure you know Mal too well, so I'll just fill you in on a few facts. He is…how shall I say it? A free spirit. He doesn't respond well to threats, intimidation, or even good advice. Besides which, why are you so sure he would be so bent on pursuing the Rogue right now?"

The Operative gave Inara a blank look for a few moments, and then the vacant expression was replaced by an evil grin. "I'm not sure how much you know about the situation, Inara, so I'll inform you of a few facts. Reynolds will pursue the Rogue once he realises that his first mate and his hired hand are both on that transport, actively helping the Rogue fulfil his ends."

Something invisible flew into Inara's stomach, leaving her short of breath. Suddenly she was no longer confident of anything. How had something so elementary escaped her attention? The Rogue had been locked away on board their new ship, last she knew, guarded by Zoe and Jayne. She _knew_ that they were both being coerced by the female Operative – why had she not considered the possibility that they were also being manipulated by the Rogue? A thousand doubts flooded her mind, but she kept her wits enough about her to pay attention to one important detail.

"Why are they helping him?" asked Inara, not even questioning the validity of the Operative's words. Somehow she knew that the situation was exactly as it had just been described to her. The only question left was why.

"I'm guessing that Jayne is being threatened in some way. Likely there is an explosive device somewhere in his body that can be activated remotely. I offered him money and a pardon – I suppose in hindsight appealing to his basest instinct would have been more advantageous, however I wanted the space to manoeuvre."

"What about Zoe?" asked Inara, the sinking feeling growing in her stomach. With Simon and Jayne, she had been able to figure out exactly how the Operative had been manipulating each of them – but not Zoe. Whatever it was must be incredibly important to the first mate, because Zoe's sense of loyalty was as strong as Inara had ever encountered, but the only thing Inara could think of – the only conceivable thing Zoe would place above loyalty to Mal – was impossible. Because he was dead. Wasn't he?

"I think you know," murmured the Operative. "You just can't accept it."

"But…" started Inara, her mind refusing to accept the possibility. But the Operative nodded.

"That's right. Zoe and Jayne are not the only members of your crew on that transport. They've gone to rescue him. He is what I was using against Zoe, and the Rogue has commandeered her assistance by promising to help free him."

"That's impossible," said Inara. But the Operative just smirked.

"Believe what you will, but Zoe believes that her husband is on that transport, and you must operate using that knowledge. Once that has been accepted, you will see that the only logical place for Zoe to be is with the Rogue. Now, please tell your Captain that he has to stay away from the transport containing his errant crew."

"What makes you think he'll listen to me?" asked Inara, her heart racing. "He never has before."

The Operative laughed, the silvery noise out of place coming from her mouth. "Oh, Inara. He isn't going to listen to you. He's going to listen to me."

The equipment whirred to life and a light over a camera embedded in the wall in front of Inara blinked on. A monitor set just below it flickered to life, and momentarily Inara saw the face of Mal peering through it. She had no idea how he had managed to acquire a portable communications device, or how the Operative knew he had it, but she could see behind him that he was still on the streets of Mithras, and if his breathing rate was to be relied upon, he had been running for a not inconsiderable amount of time.

Before either of them could speak, Inara felt the barrel of a gun being pressed to her head.

"Captain Reynolds," said the Operative. "I have some instructions for you."

Shock and outrage flooded Mal's face and his lips started to move, but no noise accompanied the images. Inara felt the Operative's head sway from side to side through the object pressed to her temple.

"It's no use, Captain, we can't hear you. Your loyal friend and Companion has something to say to you."

Inara's mind raced. The beginnings of an idea were starting to flood her thoughts, but she had absolutely no idea how it was going to work. The few seconds of hesitation earned her a shake from the Operative, and she was forced to start speaking.

"Don't go after Zoe and Jayne," she said. The barrel of the gun felt very cold against her temple, and fear suddenly flashed through her. What had the Operative said? That Inara was the only one who could disrupt her plan because the Companion was immune to coercion. However, that factor worked for Inara both ways. She was exempt from blackmail, but she was also worthless to the Operative's plan because she could not be forced to do anything that would further the Operative's goals. It would be nothing for the Alliance agent to decorate the walls with her brains, because ultimately she was not contributing to her scheme.

Mal's face had lost none of its charged emotion, and Inara could see that her words were going to be meaningless to him. If only she could concentrate for a few moments, gather her thoughts and put into action the plan she was formulating…

"It isn't like it seems," said Inara. She wasn't sure where the words had come from, but Mal stopped his tirade and squinted oddly at the screen in his hands. "You have to find another way to play the game." Then it was as if the clouds surrounding her thoughts cleared, and she knew exactly what to say. She stared directly into the camera, forcing as much resolve and meaning into her face as she could. "Finish what you started."

Mal's expression was frozen now, processing Inara's words. The Operative sensed what Inara was doing and wrenched the Companion out of the sight of the camera. She glowered into the lens.

"Stay away from the Rogue Operative and his cohorts, Captain. Or you will never see Ms Serra again. And that is a promise."

The connection died. The Operative shot a calculating look at Inara, but the Companion revealed nothing in her expression. The other woman stalked past Inara, and she could almost see the paths the Operative's mind was pursuing. She was trying to piece together what the hidden message she had just given Mal was, but Inara was confident that the Operative wouldn't be able to figure it out in time. She just had to keep her mouth shut for long enough.

"Come on," said the Operative abruptly. She led Inara back to the chair and restrained her once again to it. She gave one last look at the Companion and then apparently abandoned her furious speculation of the nature of Inara's message, barking out orders to the workers milling about the room in the light of the setting sun.

Only when the Operative's focus had moved on from Inara did she allow herself a small smile. She was almost entirely certain that Mal had understood what she had been saying before the connection was broken.

Don't go after Zoe and Jayne. It isn't like it seems. You have to find another way to play the game. Finish what you started.

Nothing about the past week had been anything like it seemed, and Mal knew that better than anybody. They had been yanked around too long now for misdirection to be a viable strategy, and the Operative had tried that trick once too often. Threatening Inara's life, though she would have actually done it, had been a desperate measure, and she prayed that Mal would know better than to think that Zoe had betrayed him – that he would consider the possibility that she was being forced to do so. He was also aware of the number of times the Alliance might have killed them and passed on the opportunity, and he would know that now would not be any different.

But he would also know that the Operative wanted him to stay away from the Rogue. Why? Because she wanted to contain the situation, extract Zoe and Jayne – and maybe, though it was still unthinkable to the Companion, Wash – from the grasp of the Rogue, and return them to Mal so that she could press forward whatever scheme she had in mind for them. Her goal was not to hurt the crew of the late Serenity, and Inara was betting that Mal could figure that out. If they played their cards right, they could ride out this war being waged between the two Operatives without a scratch.

Which led Inara to 'the other way'. Thus far, they had been running. Either from the Alliance, or unwittingly towards them, they had suffered impaired vision from the wool that the Operative had pulled over their eyes.

The time had come to stop running. She might not have realised it, but the Operative had entered into a two-way relationship with the crew of the Firefly. Though she was holding unendurable things against the crew, she was doing it because she needed something from them. Thus, Mal already had a bargaining chip against the female Operative – the possibility that she might force them to do whatever it was she needed them to do. When the dust had settled from the storm being kicked up right now, Mal would be able to use this leverage against the Alliance agent to help their escape.

However, that was not the difficulty right now. Now, Zoe and Jayne – and maybe, _maybe_ Wash – were holed up in a military transport with the Rogue Operative, and it had been quite rightly assumed that Mal's first instinct would be to chase down his errant crewmembers and slap them back into place. Therefore the Operative had taken steps to ensure that Mal would not pursue this course of action.

Find another way to play the game. Finish what you started.

The game was blackmail, and Mal needed to find power over his opponents to beat them. He had that against the female Operative, because she was not willing to risk hurting him or the others just yet. He did not have it against the Rogue, so he needed to acquire some.

What had they come here to do? To find Roderick Myers. Who was Myers? He was the Rogue's estranged son. Inara had just told Mal to go and find Roderick Myers, and to trade his life for that of their friends.

How was he going to find him? Inara happened to know that an APB had just been issued to every law enforcement agency on the planet, and that even an amateur could jack into such a widespread feed with no effort.

Now there would be a race. If Mal could find Myers before the Operative, then he would be able to restore his crew through trading with the Rogue. If the Operative caught up with the Rogue, then she would also inherit possession of Mal's crew, whose lives would be used as blackmail against him. And if the Rogue managed to encounter either of the two before their objectives were achieved, then Inara imagined that they would meet a messy end.

It was going to be an interesting night.

_A/N:_

_Lots of this chapter has been written for many weeks, but I hit writer's block around the time the bag was being taken off Inara's head._ _The trouble with that is I have the entire next chapter to write at this point, whereas up until now I've had a buffer of about two chapters between the one I upload and the one I'm actually currently writing. Chapter twenty-two doesn't even exist as a file name; I'm going to start it now! Basically, it might be a while longer than usual til an update._

_Thanks to those who reviewed: MAndrews, epm00012004, stoictimer, writtenwordlover and Cosmic Castaway. writtenwordlover: I think the fact that it has Aliens in it puts people off, and I almost regret writing it in for that fact, because it's difficult to stress how much this is a Firefly fic with elements from the Alien/Predator universe written in in a summary. This is absolutely about the Firefly characters first, with those extra elements thrown in to make things more interesting. I'm glad you found your way here though, and that you're enjoying it!_


	23. Day Nine: Long Time Coming

**Day Nine**

**Long Time Coming**

"Take this," said a strange man gruffly as he shoved a portable comms unit into Mal's hands. He barely had time to look confused after the stranger interrupted their mad dash through the streets of Londinium before the unit started beeping. He exchanged a wry look with Andrews and Simon.

"Guess someone really wants to talk with us, huh?" he asked. A quick glance behind him confirmed that the stranger had vanished among the now-dwindling crowds of pedestrians heading home after the working day, and that a search for him would likely be fruitless. He shrugged and accepted the incoming wave.

Several minutes later, Mal knew two things for sure; that he was going to kill the female Operative, and that he had to find Roderick Myers.

Inara had managed to communicate the instruction covertly enough, but Mal's blood had boiled to see the Companion threatened in such a way by the Alliance agent. The sheer indignity of the act galled him. Inara was a woman of grace, and that…

He stopped himself in the act of whipping himself into a frenzy. That was what she wanted. She needed Mal and the others off balance so she could manipulate them without difficulty.

He looked back at Simon, who was still avoiding looking him in the eye. The doctor had been quite revealing, disgorging everything that had been going on these past few days for Mal's inspection. The Captain harboured a few questions for Simon and the rest of his crew, but his feelings of betrayal were best saved for later. Right now things were falling apart at the seams and he really needed to keep things together.

He looked at Andrews. "You're an Alliance Operative and you've got to hide your kid somewhere no one can find him. Where do you go?"

"The darkest hole I can find. And bein' an Operative, I know a lot of 'em," said Andrews. "We ain't gonna find the niblet on our own."

Mal looked away, his mind racing. He tried to ignore the blood pounding in his ears, a constant reminder of the seething rage he was trying to suppress just to think straight, but he was concentrating too much on concentrating that he couldn't focus on the task at hand. He stood staring into the middle distance for a time, and then he abruptly span and punched the mesh fence they stood next to. The metal clattered and bounced with the impact.

"Gorram it!" he exclaimed. "Just…why?"

He was looking at Simon. The doctor's face was drawn and his eyes were still distended from his emotional breakdown just minutes before.

"Do we have to do this now?" asked Simon after a moment's silence. Mal's eyes burned into the side of his head, but the Captain turned away.

Stuck between the two men – one in a state of rage and the other in a state of shock – Andrews stepped forward as the one most rational.

"What do we know?" he asked. "There're two Operatives, a guy and a girl. The guy is outcast, and we got lured here to draw him out so the girl can kill him. She didn't do a good job of it and he escaped. The girl's got Inara, and the guy's got Zoe and maybe Jayne."

"We need to get the kid so we can trade him for Zoe and Jayne," said Mal, trying to control his breath to calm himself down. "But we got no way of findin' him."

"What about Inara?" asked Simon quietly.

Mal replied without looking at him. "She's safe. I've seen that woman before. She was the one who let me into the building Myers lives in. She's set this whole thing up, this maze for us to wander through. She won't let anything get in the way of her plan. I think she needs us alive for that, else why would she go to the trouble of blackmailin' you all if she was just gonna kill you?"

"Look, time's a tickin'," said Andrews. "We gotta get this kid, and pronto. It's all goin' down right now."

Stood on the quiet street corner, it didn't seem as if much of anything was happening at the moment. The three men knew better, however. Somewhere in this city a dangerous woman was holding Inara and an equally dangerous man was utilising Zoe and Jayne as tools to further whatever schemes inhabited the heads of Operatives.

Mal straightened. "We need to get on a Cortex," he said. "If the girl is tryin' to kill the guy then the only leverage she's got is the kid. She'll be lookin' for him, too. She might have made a mistake, and we need to be ready for her."

"Back to the ship?" asked Andrews, and Mal shook his head.

"Naw. Take too long. We need somewhere close by. Somewhere we can access the core network without bein' interrupted."

Andrews and Mal exchanged a look, each thinking of the same thing simultaneously. They started walking back in the direction of Roderick Myers' apartment.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"Look out!" exclaimed Jayne, throwing an arm in front of his face as if it would offer him any protection. The massive black vehicle they inhabited ploughed through a busy intersection without slowing down, the streams of traffic honking and swerving out of the way and screaming to a halt to avoid a collision. An unlucky pair of cars were smashed out of the way of the oncoming juggernaut, and their pursuers were slowed down as they picked their way through the now stationary traffic.

Jayne looked to his side and saw that the Operative was smiling happily to himself, and it galled him that anyone could find this situation amusing or entertaining. He was no stranger to violence, but this was in another league to anything he had encountered before. He was party to tearing up the capital city of the entire Alliance. That would be something to tell the grandchildren. Assuming he stayed alive for that long.

"Are you out of your gorram mind!?" called Jayne, his face frozen in an expression of horrified indignation.

"Probably!" replied the Operative, roaring down a main street.

"What good are we to you if we're _dead_!?" demanded Jayne, but the Operative _pshed_ his remark.

"You aren't going to die, Jayne," he said reproachfully. "Not until I say so."

An armed response unit blazed above, the skimmer keeping pace with the stolen land craft. Someone started to roar something from a loudspeaker, but Jayne was too distraught to focus on it properly.

"Time to lose our new friends," said the Operative casually.

He steered sharply to the right. Jayne's hands found the console in front of him and he held on for dear life as they left the road and hurtled towards a shopping complex. He barely had time to blink before they had smashed through the elaborate glass entrance, startled consumers scattering to avoid death in the face of such wanton destruction. The beeping indicating that they were being followed started to decrease in intensity and then finally stopped, but as they emerged on the other side of the complex amid a tornado of flying bricks and mortar, a look above revealed that the hovercraft were still hot in pursuit.

"That takes care of the ground vehicles," said the Operative calmly, as if he was commentating on events from afar. "Now to address our other friends."

He engaged the thrusters of the vehicle and it sped even faster along the road, the buildings becoming merely blurs. It smashed through several other cars on the road, the great hunks of metal simply being flung aside by the momentum and weight of the Operative's transport, but still the aircraft above them kept pace.

"What are you gonna do?" asked Jayne, and the Operative smirked.

"Watch and see," he said.

He pulled hard on the brakes and the steering mechanism, and the vehicle locked sideways into a grinding turn. When they faced ninety degrees to the right, the Operative slammed the transport back into drive and, the engines screaming in protest, it started forward again towards a large gate that had just appeared in front of them.

A moment later the guards and the gate had been scattered to the wind and the vehicle was inside a large compound filled with large metallic structures emitting steam. Jayne clung on as the Operative slammed on the brakes again, this time to a complete stop in the centre of the new compound. Within seconds countless sirens were blazing above them, and numerous voices were screaming at them through loudspeakers. The Operative took a look above them and then powered down the engine. The transport lumbered heavily into silence and Jayne directed a horrified look at his captor.

"What the hell are you doin'?" he demanded, and the Operative looked sideways at him.

"I'll give you the pleasure, Jayne. Please push the blue button on the console in front of you. The one on the left."

Jayne glanced at the board and saw the relevant button, unmarked in any way. His finger hovered above it, but he gave another scared look to the Operative.

"What's gonna happen?" he almost whispered, and the Rogue sat back in his chair, getting comfortable as more sirens joined the others above them.

"Fireworks," he said, and Jayne pushed the button.

From absolute silence a high pitched whine built up in the heart of the transport within moments, gaining intensity by the millisecond until Jayne could feel the vibrations thrumming through every part of him. He grit his teeth against the pressure increasing in intensity, pressing against his body, but he was helpless to resist the force flowing through him. Just when he thought he couldn't take any more the throbbing turned into a powerful pulse, detonating outwards with an invisible force that took Jayne's breath away.

In the quiet that followed, the whining from the hovercraft around them was clearly audible. The sirens had stopped, and the engines were coughing and stuttering to a halt. The first hovercraft crashed into one of the metallic structures, exploding in a fiery miasma, and the rest of its companions followed suit in the seconds that followed. Dozens of police aircraft fell from the sky, colliding in mid air, exploding against the ground or impacting the structures of the compound around them. The Operative watched with satisfaction as the sky turned to fire, and moments later all that was left were the burning remains of those who had tried to pursue them. He looked back at Jayne conspiratorially.

"E.M.P.," he said confidentially. "I stole it along with this vehicle."

He activated the engines and Jayne couldn't say a word, speechless upon witnessing the utter destruction taking place before him. The Operative drove for a few minutes longer until they reached an underground tunnel that was devoid of traffic.

The vehicle finally lumbered to a halt and Jayne gasped for air, peeling his fingers from the console in front of him. The Operative jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

"Get in the back."

Jayne removed himself from the seat and clambered into the rear section of the vehicle. Zoe glared up at him from the bench.

"Is he done makin' noise?" she asked, but Jayne didn't reply. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the figure Zoe's arm was wrapped around, slumped unconscious on the bench by her side.

Wash. It boggled his mind. He was _alive_. But it didn't make any sense; he had seen the mutilated corpse of Serenity's pilot and been among those to bury him. What in the hell were the Alliance doing pulling the wool over their eyes about something as inane as someone like Wash? What was he to them? Where did he fit into the picture?

Jayne shook his head, his mind simply shutting off against the questions. He wouldn't make any sense of it on his own. No use trying. He moved to stand by Zoe to make room for their driver.

The Operative emerged from the cabin, and he suffered a similar look from Zoe as Jayne had received from the woman. But before she could say anything, he held up a finger.

"This was the deal, Zoe. I give you back your husband, and you assist me with this small matter."

"Small matter?" Her eyes had widened incredulously. "I'd be surprised if half the city hasn't fallen down."

"Oh, it probably did," said the Operative. "But that's not my concern. I told you that I needed you both for this to work, but the truth is, I only need one of you."

"What?" demanded Jayne, and suddenly there was a gun in the Operative's hand. It was aimed at a spot directly between Zoe and Jayne, liable to move to each of them at a second's notice.

"You heard me," said the Rogue. "Choose. Which one of you dies?"

There was a moment of tense silence as the situation ran through each of their minds. A nervous laugh escaped from Jayne.

"What?" he said again, the grin spreading across his features. "C'mon…"

The Operative's face was deadly serious. "One of you I need. The other, I don't. Who's coming with me?"

Jayne looked sideways at Zoe, and the first mate returned his glance. He saw the same thing that was flashing through his mind in her expression. Their manipulator wasn't joking around. One of them wasn't going to make the cut here. And Jayne knew which one of them it was going to be.

"Me," they both said in chorus, looking back to the Operative. His expression was unreadable as his eyes flickered between the pair.

The gun flashed to the side towards Jayne, and he flinched on reflex. Then it moved back to point at Zoe, who visibly tensed. Abruptly it was pointed at Jayne again. The barrel wavered between the two conscripts until Jayne shot an outraged glare at the Operative. The gun froze and he regarded Jayne stony-faced for a moment.

He burst out laughing. He holstered the pistol and relaxed his posture. "You two need to lighten up," said the Operative. He started talking again as if nothing had happened. "This is what's going to happen. Zoe's going to come with me and Jayne is going to stay here and keep an eye on Wash. I don't think I need to remind anyone about how this arrangement works?"

Zoe would behave herself because Jayne, who had a bomb in his chest courtesy of the Operative, was watching Wash. Still flushed with outrage and shock, Zoe marched towards the Operative and pressed her finger hard to his shoulder.

"No more games," she whispered dangerously. "Or I'll end you."

The Operative was unblinking in his smug demeanour. "Brave words, Zoe." Suddenly he changed, the mask of his face tearing off to expose the simmering rage beneath it. He savagely shoved at Zoe, who fell roughly onto the bench behind her. He followed her motion, his face stopping inches from hers, each of his hands occupying the space on either side of her head.

"You'll do exactly as I tell you," he hissed, his voice drenched in a cold and dangerous fury. "If you haven't realised that by now, Zoe, then I ought to kill you right here. This is all a game. And I have come too far to let a piece of dirt relic from the Independents ruin it for me."

Zoe's eyes burned into his, but she looked away. Underneath it all she knew that she was stuck helping him, and had no say in the matter. She would just have to hope it would be over quickly.

"Jayne," said the Operative, not taking his eyes from the woman before him. "So you know – if I don't hit a switch in half an hour, the bomb goes off. So if you're harbouring any hope that Zoe will manage to overpower me on our little outing and set you free, then you're mistaken. If I die, you die."

Jayne grunted in acknowledgement. That was more or less what he had been expecting. He picked up a pistol and sat on the bench opposite Wash, but the Rogue shook his head.

"Not here. The authorities will have located and secured this vehicle within the next seven minutes. I have a location prepared nearby. And put down that weapon. I promised you another, remember?"

Jayne leapt to his feet, as excited as a child at Christmas. With a wave of his hand he motioned to the weapons cabinet, and a check within revealed Jayne's pride and joy; with eager hands he seized Vera and held her close to his chest as if they would never be parted again.

The Operative glanced with barely concealed distaste at Jayne. "When you're finished, we have a job to do," he said.

Minutes later, they had disembarked the transport and were moving out to their next location.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

The apartment was much the same as they had left it. Furniture scattered across the small room, the door splintered, and dead bodies in the stairwell. Mal had previously wondered if they would attract the attention of the neighbours; now, he wondered if there were any neighbours at all. The female Operative had seen to letting Mal into the building; maybe she had planned as far as relocating the other residents temporarily while her plan was carried out.

Andrews moved immediately to the Cortex terminal while Simon hung back, by the door. The doctor was experiencing a state of shock, everything he had been carrying inside him for so long finally coming out into the open. Guilt? Regret? Validation? Pride? He was probably feeling all of those things and more, all at once. No wonder he looked so out of it.

Mal's eyes wandered across the room, taking in the contents as Andrews' fingers tapped across the keys of the terminal. The cheap furniture had not withstood the altercation between the Serenity crew and the Operative well. Stray hands and feet had smashed a small ornament, shifted the couch several feet, and knocked a large, tatty lamp over. A small table was still standing, having survived the incident.

What would it be like to live like this? Confined to a single space, and a single job? Granted, the security would be nice, but the thought almost made Mal sick to be so…imprisoned. A slave to the system he had fought to stop.

His eyes found Simon, and he almost reconsidered. Maybe he would be trapped, but then maybe he wouldn't have to worry about those he had offered shelter and protection to, in their greatest hour of need, selling him down the river.

"Nothing," said Andrews, jarring him out of his thoughts. "Just a photo and a description of his father. Oh, last known whereabouts – that's here." He glanced back at Mal. "Surprised to find the place deserted."

"They'll be headed here, but they won't touch us," said Mal. His voice did not exude confidence, but resignation. Such immunity against the system did not reassure him; instead, it just made the sinking feeling in his stomach even worse. Whatever was going on, it transcended the petty laws and regulations of the Alliance. And Mal knew how the Alliance liked to enforce its petty laws.

He felt a surge of frustration once again. Here they were, stuck at square one while the Operatives hijacked his crew and ran circles around him. He kicked at the table that had survived the fight earlier, scattering what was on it across the room.

"So where the hell do we go?" he asked to no one in particular. "We got nothin'. We need a needle and we've got a haystack." He sighed. There was no part of this that was fair. If only something would fall into his lap – some clue that would tell him how to proceed. Something that would solve just this problem; the rest he would deal with on his own, he wasn't greedy. Just one break.

"Here," said Simon.

He was holding an old-fashioned picture frame. Mal stared at him, almost in confusion.

"What?" he asked.

The doctor looked up at him, his eyes still holding all the hurt that had flooded out of him earlier.

"Here," he said again, holding out the frame to Mal, who took it.

It was a picture of Roderick when he was very young; or Mal assumed so, because the man holding the child was an earlier version of his father, the Operative. They were stood on the steps to a house with a woman Mal didn't recognise. The picture could have been belonged to anyone; Mal frowned and turned it aside, not seeing the relevance.

"We should search the criminal database, see if Myers has any priors. We might find an address book in here; anything with details of someone he might turn to at a time like this."

Simon shook his head and picked up the picture frame once again, holding it up to Mal.

"Here!" he said persistently. "We should look here!"

The Captain turned in frustration to the doctor. "Simon, I…"

"Wait," said Andrews. "Let me see that."

The frame was passed into his hands and he analysed it closely, his brow furrowing as he concentrated. After a few moments he laughed.

"That's it," he said, looking at Simon.

"What?" said Mal, still not getting it. Andrews spoke to him, gesticulating with the frame as he did so.

"It's what you asked me before. Where would I go if I'm an Operative and I have to find my kid somewhere?" He waved the frame in front of Mal's face. "I'd go to a place the others aren't going to look for him."

Mal snatched the frame from Andrews, growing weary of him waving it around. He took another look. "But if the picture's here, it'd be obvious," he said.

"That's why it's so smart," said Andrews. "It's not obvious to an Operative."

Mal thought about it. The man had been trained to forgo any sense of personal identity and swear fealty to the Alliance. He became a shadow; working silently and ruthlessly in the background, never taking credit or responsibility for what he did. Yet for all of his skills, both Operatives received the same training. Mal was thinking about this as if _he_ were the one trying to hide his child. But the Operative did not have the same priorities as Mal, who was used to thinking with regard to regular police patrols and customs checks. The Operative was eluding much a much deadlier predator; one who had access to exactly the same training and protocols as he.

Surely, then, the most logical place to run to would be the most illogical. The place most steeped in emotion and personal history as the Operative could find. Somewhere he had placed great importance back when he had been an individual; before he had become a cog in the machine. Out of everything he would have destroyed to cover his tracks when he had disappeared to become the Alliance incarnate, this photograph had survived. It must hold great emotional value to the Operative, or to his son.

Andrews and Simon were looking at him expectantly. "We don't even know where this is," he complained, but Andrews' eager finger pointed at the corner of the image.

"Look – half of a street sign. I doubt that 'Sevent…' could mean many things."

Simon spoke almost timidly. "It has to be either Seventy-Third or Seventy-Sixth. The rest of the similarly named streets were demolished during the depression. That style of architecture wouldn't have been used for newer buildings."

Mal looked again at the picture. He didn't know anything about architecture, but Andrews was right about the street sign. Even if they found the house and nothing was there, then he would have the time it would take to travel there to think of another plan. And if something _was_ there…

He raised the frame above his head and brought it down on the edge of the table, shattering the glass. It was a shame to destroy an antique, but whatever needs must.

He extracted the picture and folded it away in one of his pockets.

"What the hell," he said, and the three men departed to check what was best described as both the longest shot possible and their greatest hope.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Zoe, Jayne, Wash and the Operative were, at the moment Mal was folding up the photograph, mounting the steps to the same house in the picture. It looked very different; the homely exterior was gone, replaced by boarded windows and a small garden that had fallen into disarray. A red cross had been carelessly painted across the door.

The Operative knocked loudly on the door, his other hand tensing on the hilt of the sword protruding from near his neck. Wash groaned in his semi-conscious delirium from where he slouched against Jayne. Zoe's eyes flickered to her husband's form from where they had been scanning both ends of the street for any signs of pursuit.

"It'll be okay," she muttered as the Operative hammered on the door again.

"Roddy, it's me!" he called. "Open the door!"

Almost immediately, the lock on the door had been disengaged and it flew open, revealing a young man in his early twenties. His eyes were wide and his face spread open wide in a grin, but the Operative barely registered his existence. He waved the others in, and they followed his instruction.

"I was worried," said the stranger, and the Rogue nodded.

"I know. But I'm here now."

Jayne and Zoe exchanged a puzzled glance as they wandered on through into the first room. Who was this newcomer?

The interior was considerably better preserved than the outside view suggested. Though it was barely habitable, the room provided the bare essentials. Two mattresses lay in the corner, and a small stove sat next to a meagre supply of preserved food. A large barrel held water, and there were three buckets in the opposite corner.

Zoe nodded begrudgingly. Though she despised his very existence, the Operative was proving very resourceful. Hopefully they would be able to finish this business quickly and part ways.

She tried not to think about what she was going to say to the Captain, assuming she ever saw him again. She had already decided that her best course of action would be to just disappear with Wash and never look back.

The Operative disrupted her train of thought when he produced a small box from inside his jacket. He took out a small device and placed it inside his ear, and then tossed the box to Zoe.

"Put this in," he commanded, and she complied with the order. She handed the box to Jayne, who implanted the third and final earwig.

"Plannin' on us separatin'?" asked Zoe, but the Operative just shrugged.

"Be prepared," what all he said.

Roderick had been looking about the room, confused.

"Dad, what's going on?"

Zoe's eyes flashed between the two men, revealing a previously unrealised family resemblance. She glanced at Jayne, who was staring confoundedly at their captor. It had never occurred to him that before he had been an Operative, their subjugator might have led an ordinary life and sired offspring. Zoe, on the other hand, filed away the information with interest. It might save her life later.

If he was feeling any anger about the nature of his relationship with Roderick being revealed to those he was coercing, he did not show it. "These people are helping me. I need to leave again, but I'll be back soon. Do you remember what I told you? About the spaceport?"

Roderick nodded. His father had booked him transport to Beylix in the event that he could not return in time.

"Good. The plan is the same. If it comes down to it, then worry about yourself. Jayne won't try and harm you, and doesn't have a ticket."

His son frowned, his eyes finding Zoe. "What do you mean? Is someone after us? Wouldn't it be better for us to stick together?"

Zoe jerked her head towards Jayne. "I'm Zoe. He's Jayne. And listen to your father."

That shut him up. He was evidently not used to this – hiding out in abandoned houses, being around people with guns. Roderick was out of his element, and Zoe played on that in order to expedite their exit from the house. The sooner they left, the sooner they would be back, and the sooner she could vanish.

The Operative sensed her desire and, for once, acted towards her best interests. "We're leaving now. We'll be back within the hour. Don't do anything stupid."

He turned and marched from the room, letting Zoe trail along behind him. She stopped in the doorway and let her eyes linger on Wash, who had been placed on one of the mattresses.

She didn't see Roderick watch her, and had no way of knowing about the wave of sadness he felt course through him, seeing what his father had become. He sighed and sat down on the mattress as Zoe turned and left, following the Operative out of the house.

"What's the plan?" asked Zoe as they stepped onto the street. The Operative flexed his muscles and stretched his neck by turning his head from side to side.

"We kill the bitch who wants me dead," he said dangerously.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Inara was once again testing the strength of her restraints when the lights flickered and died above her head, followed closely by the consoles being operated by the workers. She glanced around, confused, but she was not the only one.

"What just happened?" barked the Operative, standing in the middle of the darkened control room. One of the workers volunteered an explanation.

"Our forces had just cornered him in the central power regulation centre for the city," he said timidly. "That's when everything went dead."

The Operative pointed at one nearby minion. "Try and raise them on the traditional radio," she instructed, and he scurried away. "Who was responsible for taking inventory on what the Rogue stole from us?"

Another anonymous worker stood up close to the Operative. "I was."

As quick as a flash, the Operative drew her sword and rammed it up through the belly and inside the ribcage of the offending person. With a gasp the worker was dead on the floor, with the other technicians looking on, horrified. The Operative glared about her, as if daring any other mistakes to be made known to her. Wisely, the assembled task force quickly returned to work, but with pale faces and trembling hands.

The Alliance agent stalked towards Inara, who was not afraid to speak her mind.

"Was that necessary?" she demanded crossly. "That was a person's life you've just ended, someone who doesn't care as much about your problems as you do, or…"

"Oh, do be quiet," hissed the Operative. "Your schoolyard ethics have no place here. Just be quiet while I work." She began to operate the console Inara sat beside with fluid fingers, her eyes dancing across the data being displayed there. Inara sat in silence for a time before the Operative abruptly stood and moved to Inara's side.

She started to release the mechanism restraining the Companion to the chair. "Just like before; no funny business."

Inara rubbed her wrist as it was freed and eyed the Operative cautiously. "Are you going to run me through now?" she asked acidly. The Operative shook her head.

"I have to move you. Likely the Rogue did not end up at the power regulation facility by chance; this is part of his plan."

"What plan?"

The Operative held Inara by the elbow and led her towards where they had entered the room. "Most likely to kill me. I am his principle opponent in all of this, and if he turns up here firing indiscriminately he might harm you. While you aren't integral to my plan, it would be more useful if you were alive, so I'm moving you to a more secure location."

"So you do care," said Inara sarcastically. The Operative gave her a look that would melt through steel.

"Or I could just kill you right now," she hissed. "I'm tired of this constant bickering. Either be quiet or I'll gag you."

Inara looked at the Operative with surprise. When she had encountered her first Operative during the Miranda incident, he had been totally calm no matter what she had said to him. Up until now, this woman had been the same way, but now she was irate and aggressive. Her opponent must really be starting to get to her.

Wisely, Inara chose to be quiet.

She was marched through the darkened room to the elevators and stood firmly in place in front of them as the Operative pressed the button to call the right elevator up. With nothing else to do she stared at the happily shining light set above the doors that told the progress of the approaching car as the Operative started muttering orders into her portable communicator, trying to marshal her forces to find the Rogue agent.

Slowly the Companion frowned. Something wasn't right about this situation. Inara looked around, trying to figure out what it was. The technicians were scurrying about, trying to figure out a way to reactivate their darkened equipment in light of the power outage. The Operative was still muttering orders into her microphone. The elevator light told Inara that it was halfway to their location.

"Excuse me," she said politely. The Operative ignored her. Inara couldn't take her eyes off the slowly flickering elevator light. It was two thirds to their floor. "Excuse me," she reiterated, and the Operative's eyes flashed to her.

"I was being deadly serious, Inara. It's a gag or death if you continue this nonsense."

But Inara ignored her statement, still staring at the shining light. "The Rogue just blew the power to the city, right?"

"Yes. It seems that he stole an E.M.P. generator and set it off at the central power regulation centre for the city. I'm trying to ascertain his objective for doing so now."

"So all the equipment functions, but there's no power going to any of it?"

The Operative sighed, breaking away from her muttering again, speaking condescendingly. "Yes, Inara. That's what happens when the central power regulator is destroyed. Nothing in the city gets power."

"Even in this building?"

"The building is part of the city, isn't it? That's why none of the consoles, the lights, or the defences downstairs are functioning."

"…Then why is this elevator working?"

The Operative's eyes flickered from Inara to the light shining above the doors, which informed her that the car was moments away from arriving. Everything slotted together in her mind and she shoved Inara away with one hand and drew her sword fluidly with the other. In the instant the elevator dinged and the doors started to slide open, her blade found the minute crack between the two metal panels and was struck inside with deadly force. As the doors opened all of the way, however, Inara saw what was inside and she gasped.

The security guard from the foyer downstairs hung from the ceiling of the car, the Operative's sword sticking through his gut. Rope secured him in place under the arms and across the chest, and his feet swung inches off the floor.

He had been slaughtered like an animal. His throat hung open in a bloody gash and there were two bullet holes through his heart. Blood ran down his body and pooled under his dangling feet. He had been dead long before the Operative had stabbed him now.

Inara's eyes, however, were drawn to something perhaps even more horrific. The guard's shirt had been torn open, and in his chest were carved the words:

_You're next._

The Operative's eyes began to dance across the room, trying to take in every detail of the darkened complex. Shadows leapt out at her in her peripheral vision, and any worker she could not see the face of began to look more menacing. Her hands tightened on her sword and she nodded towards Inara.

"This way," she muttered. She started to lead the Companion through the banks of lifeless computer monitors when one of the workers caught sight of the slaughtered security guard and screamed, terrified by the sight and by the implications of what it meant for the rest of them. The panic spread like wildfire throughout the room, and the Operative's senses were awash with the activity of those scurrying around her to safety.

The Rogue took this moment to strike.

Through the mess of motion in the office, he erupted with his sword held high, ready to cleave through his adversary clean in two, but though distracted, she was ready.

He own blade danced backwards, deflecting the mortal blow delivered to her. She lunged back in an attack of her own but he span away, vanishing into the scramble of people trying to make it to the exits.

She hissed, the blood pounding in her ears, trying to keep Inara behind her in an attempt to protect her from attack. The Companion noted this with a distracted interest, the majority of her consciousness focussing on surviving the next few minutes.

The Operative slunk forward, her movements reflecting that of a predator pacing through long grass. Every nerve in her body was taut with tension as she moved, step by step, towards the nearest exit. She knew intimately how dangerous the man stalking them was, because she had received exactly the same training he had, and knew the absolute determination with which she was being hunted.

All of a sudden she lunged forward, bringing Inara with her by grabbing her around the wrist, and made a dash for the door. She burst through a crowd of frightened workers and just as her path to the nearest exit was totally clear, she shifted her weight abruptly to the side, crashing into Inara and driving her in a right angle to the side. The space she would have occupied was suddenly riddled with weapons fire – the Rogue had been waiting for his prey to make a break for the door, but instead of catching her in his trap he had given up a vital piece of information to her.

The Operative knelt smoothly behind a workspace cubicle and ensured that Inara was crouched safely behind her. Now she knew, from the trajectory of the weapons fire, approximately where her opponent was in the room.

Most of the office workers had by this time abandoned the command centre, and an unearthly silence descended upon the darkened room. Inara felt herself trying to hold her breath in case that amount of noise was enough to alert the Rogue to their position.

After seconds of remaining motionless, the Operative gestured sideways to the Companion, and she began to slink along the carpet, making no noise as she moved, towards the opposite end of the row of cubicles.

Inara drew a breath to whisper a few words to the Operative, but before she could speak the Alliance agent's hand flew up and silenced the Companion. Her eyes scanned the room intently, flickering on every marginally abnormal shadow or trace of movement.

Without warning, something loud clattered against the ground behind them and, on tense reflex, Inara leapt to her feet in order to back away from the disturbance. In the same moment the Rogue erupted from the far side of the room, a mean looking pistol brandished in each hand, aiming directly for his surfaced prey. Instantly the Operative lashed out sideways with her arms, wrapping them around Inara's legs, and pulled with all of her might. The Companion plummeted to the ground as the rounds shattered into the wall behind where her head and heart had just occupied.

Before she could rouse her senses the Operative was pushing her towards the door they had almost exited earlier as the heavy footsteps of the Rogue started to lumber across the room towards them. All façade of stealth faded away as he started to unload his pistols into the area the two women occupied, the bullets streaking through the cubicles and computer banks surrounding his quarry.

Inara staggered to her feet in order to make a final dash for the door, but as she did so the Rogue rounded onto the same stretch of carpeted walkway. His weapons found their mark as he started to sprint towards the Companion and he opened fire just as the Operative threw herself in front of Inara, her body armour deflecting the stream of weapons fire. His pistol found the Operative's unprotected head but the first and then the second weapon clicked empty. He discarded both without firing either again, the two guns clattering against the ground as the Rogue's embedded training took over completely.

He drew his sword in a fluid motion but the Operative had reacted just as quickly to the situation. She pushed Inara towards the door and the Companion bounded noisily into a stairwell. She did not need to be told to start descending the steps, her heart pounding in her throat, knowing that the man following them would slaughter them both without mercy or remorse in less than a heartbeat, and she could hear the door explode open as he entered the stairwell above them, and knew that he was _right behind them_, only a split-second away, and that one mistake would mean the end of her life.

The Operative grabbed roughly at the back of Inara's shirt – the Companion was dragged into another doorway that led into corridor of black doors. The Alliance agent kicked open the third door on the left and barrelled through, the wooden frame shattering with the force. As they cleared the threshold a metal shutter flew down from the ceiling, separating them from their pursuer. The Rogue banged with considerable force into the other side of the shutter, and the Operative fixed a satisfied smirk at the barrier.

"I'd say that takes care of our…"

She was silenced as the butt of a rifle smashed into her jaw, propelling her with force into the wall and onto the ground. She tenderly felt her bruised face as she glared up at the newcomer.

"Not so much," said Zoe, edging nearer to the Alliance agent, rifle held high.

"Zoe!" exclaimed Inara, rushing forward, but she halted as the first mate changed to aim at the Companion instead, her eyes wary. Inara's face swirled with confusion.

"What are you doin' here, Inara?" said Zoe shortly. The Companion spread her arms helplessly.

"She kidnapped me," she explained. "Something about her grand plan. I'm the only one who could have ruined it. I know what she's been doing to you, Zoe, and what she held against you."

Zoe's eyes flickered with distrust and pain. "You don't know anything," she muttered dangerously.

The Operative had pulled herself to her feet. "You're working with him," she said. Zoe nodded.

"Yeah. He went to flush you out. Said I wouldn't be a match for you if I did it. He knew all about your little escape route."

"And you're going to do what?" she asked defiantly. Zoe shrugged.

"We didn't cover that in the plan."

The communications device the Rogue had given to Zoe activated from where it sat nestled in her ear.

"_Report."_

"I've got your friend," said Zoe.

"_Good. Kill her."_

Zoe raised the rifle and aimed it at the Operative's head, but against all of her preconceptions, Inara found herself standing, without even thinking about it, between the barrel of Zoe's weapon and her former captor.

"Inara, get out of the way," growled Zoe. Her words travelled through the open comms line.

"_Ms Serra is there?"_ asked the sardonically amused voice of the Rogue. _"Not unexpected. Kill her too."_

Zoe's eyes flashed to Inara's, and the emotion contained there transmitted itself across the space between the two women and into Inara's consciousness.

"Zoe, wait. You don't want to do this," she said, knowing exactly what Zoe had just been instructed to do.

"I don't have a choice," said Zoe, her voice dead.

"Think about it," said Inara, speaking quickly through the heart in her mouth. "She's been keeping me alive. She has a plan for us. It might not be a good fate, but it's certainly better than whatever_he_ has in mind for us. He's just using you to kill her, and once that's done, he has no use for us any more."

Zoe shook her head. "You're sayin' it like I don't already know."

Inara's heart raced even faster as Zoe took a step towards her and tensed her finger on the trigger. "Zoe…please." Her eyes filled with tears. "There has to be another way."

Zoe's own eyes started to sting with unshed tears, and she stared intently at the Companion unblinkingly.

"_I'm not hearing the distinctive report of weapons fire,"_ said the no longer amused voice of the Rogue in her ear. _"Kill them both, and do it now."_

The first mate stared at Inara a moment longer before her finger eased off on the trigger and she replied.

"No. We're not playing your game any more."

The Rogue's mind tripped a circuit, the logic of Zoe's statement not making it through his brain successively. He reverted to the last thing he knew that made sense.

"_I said kill them both, and now."_

"And I said no. This bitch is what you want, and now I've got her. Now you get to do what I say."

The man on the other end of the channel was still having difficulty with these series of events. _"Zoe, if you don't kill them within the next ten seconds, I'm going to have Jayne kill your husband."_

"You won't," said Zoe, confident in her position for the first time in what felt like an eternity. "This has all been about leverage, and now I have something you want."

The Rogue erupted. _"Kill them both, and do it right now, or Wash dies!"_ he screamed through their connection. Zoe winced but remained firm.

"No. I'm changing the game. You have to…"

But the Rogue was not listening any more. He punched the shutter separating him from his prey and then added another channel to the comms line.

"Jayne!" he screamed. "I want you to take your precious gorram Vera, put it against Wash's head, and blow his insides all over the walls!"

Zoe's heart lurched in her chest. "Jayne, no!" she urged from the other side of the divide. "We have him where we want him, you just have to…"

"_Do it, Jayne!"_ roared the Rogue. _"Do it or I'll burst you open like a rotten fruit!"_

Wash's wife felt nausea roll over her like a wave. Jayne still had the bomb implanted in his chest, put there by the Rogue. Now he was threatening his life, and she couldn't find the words that would make him not execute her newly rediscovered husband.

"No, Jayne!" was all she could find.

"_Jayne do it or you're dead!"_ howled the Rogue, and as the last word left his mouth a deafening report blasted through the comms line, shattering the tense mood and replacing it with one of satisfaction and absolute loss for the man and woman on either side of the fallen shutter.

Zoe's face twisted with grief, and the rifle fell from her limp grasp. She fell against the wall, covering her face with her hands, her face frozen in a sob that would not yet vocalise itself. The first mate slid slowly to the ground, her entire being lost in a maelstrom of futile loss.

The Rogue smirked with satisfaction. "A choice well made, Jayne," he said approvingly.

The comms line crackled and a reply finally filtered through from the other side.

"_Well see now, that's the thing."_

The Rogue's smug expression slowly dripped from his face as what was happening registered upon him. The stirrings of the rage he had thought abated began to re-emerge.

"No…" he hissed.

Across the city, Jayne sat sullenly on one of the couches next to the unconscious form of Wash, still inhabiting the building the Rogue had left them in. But he was no longer alone.

Daniel Andrews stood at the window watching for Alliance patrols, Simon Tam stooped next to Wash checking his vitals, an expression of disbelief prominent on his face, and Malcolm Reynolds stood in the centre of the room with Jayne's communications device lodged in his ear. His pistol was trained dead on the terrified form of Roderick Myers, a bullet hole smoking in the wall next to his head.

"Yeah, 'fraid so," said Mal. "And the next one goes between the nipper's eyes if you don't start to behave yourself. Now, shall we talk this through like reasonable men?"

_A/N:_

_I suppose an apology for lateness would be a tad redundant, so I'll offer an explanation instead. I've had a shedload of work to do, and an all-around hectic few months. I've been chipping away at this chapter for all of that time, and along the way I've fought with the worst writer's block I've ever had and other circumstances to finally get it finished. I didn't want to resort to writing just anything for the sake of finishing sooner, but I feel that I've done that in certain places here, so any dips in quality I do apologise for._

_The overall plot of this story was decided more or less before I started it, and although things have changed a lot along the way, it helps that I'm not just making this up as I go along. I know where the characters are going, so if the next chapter is a long time coming as this one has been, know that I'll be slowly working on it and that I want to finish this story, having decided its course._

_I hope it was worth the wait, and I've missed getting reviews in the time I haven't updated so they will be very much appreciated! Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed so far, and I hope that you continue to read (and enjoy) and that the next chapter isn't so long in production._


	24. Day Nine: Executive Order

**Day Nine**

**Executive Order**

"No talking," said the Rogue calmly through the white-hot rage coursing through him. "If you want to get off this planet alive, you'll release my son immediately."

Mal cocked his head to the side, even though there was no way for the Rogue to see the gesture. "I'm thinkin' no."

"Very well then. Your fate is sealed," said the former Alliance agent. Without further discussion he removed the communications device from his ear, dropped it onto the ground, and crushed it beneath his heel. He stalked away down the corridor, dark thoughts fermenting in his mind.

On the other side of the protective shutter, Zoe glared down at the fallen Operative.

"What's he gonna do?" she demanded, tears of premature grief still wet on her face.

The agent stared back resolutely. "If I were you, I wouldn't stay around to find out."

Before Zoe could react, Mal's voice floated through the device placed in her ear.

"_Report,"_ he said, unconsciously echoing the Rogue.

"I've got the female Operative and Inara here with me," said Zoe. "We're in an escape route of a building she was using to command the forces in the area."

"Until her friend destroyed them all with an EMP," muttered Inara, earning her a dark look from the Operative.

"_Good. We'll need her if we're gonna stay ahead of our man."_

"What's your location?" asked Zoe.

"We're in a house downtown with Operative Junior. We should probably leave the area. Like, preferably the next solar system."

"Agreed. What's the plan?"

The Operative rose to her feet. "I'll tell you what the plan is," she said, her dark eyes guarded against any possible assessment of her mood. "You need to do exactly what I tell you to."

Zoe laughed humourlessly. "Come again?"

"Do exactly what I tell you," repeated the Operative intently. "Because if our roles were reversed, I know what I'd be doing right now. And you really don't want to be around to find out what it is."

All of a sudden she found herself pinned against the wall, strong fingers locking around her throat. Her eyes boggled with surprise as she regarded the face of Inara, held close now to her own.

"I'm tried of this crap," said the Companion in a calm, reasonable tone. "For all of this time, you've been drumming out the beat we're marching to. But you know what? It really doesn't matter any more. We all _know_. We know that you have a plan for us, and we know that the only reason you're helping us – because you _are_ helping us – is to further that end. You can hide behind words, and smoke and mirrors, but we all know that's what you want. You need us to escape from this situation for whatever it is you're planning. But now you're flailing. Your enemy has outflanked you, and you're reeling, trying to retain control over a situation where you have no chance of reclaiming any. Unless you do what _I_ tell you to do right now."

The Operative glared at Inara, her pulse bobbing visibly underneath the pressure being exerted on her neck. "And what's that?" she said in a strained voice.

Inara met her venomous gaze easily. "We all put it behind us. We hate you – not one of us would hesitate before ending your influence over us, and more than one of us would take our time before finally killing you. I doubt you're capable of true hatred after whatever the Alliance did to you, but you at least dislike the fact that your hold over us is slipping. However right now we have a common enemy, and a common goal. We need your help in order to escape from this world, and you need for us to escape, for whatever reason. We don't care what it is – we can figure it out on our own, thank you very much. But if you try to hide behind empty threats and vague omens of doom, then you will find that your control has slipped more completely than you might have first foreseen. So, I'll ask you straight one time, and then you'll find that we won't care to stick around just in case you decide to get talkative. What is he planning, and how do we escape from it?"

For several moments the Operative continued to glare at the Companion, and then she reached a decision in her mind. She nodded once curtly and Inara released the Alliance agent, who rubbed tenderly at her bruised neck.

"He wants us all dead," she said sullenly. "I know him; he is not capable of the subtlety an Operative needs to perform their duties. He is a blunt instrument, and when possessed by the great rage that resides within him he will lash out at whatever is causing him frustration with all of his strength, hoping to crush it, absolutely, outright. It's why he failed his Trials."

"He failed to kill us?" asked Inara, and the Operative nodded.

"Not only failed to kill, but failed to understand the concept of containment before extermination. The very fact that he wished you dead was failure enough; an Operative needs to work a step beyond emotion, and always a step ahead of their target."

"That why he almost killed you?" asked Zoe. "Seems like he's capable of some subtlety, sneakin' up on you like he did."

"To a certain extent. He is neither an Operative, nor is he human. He is proficient enough in our art to develop a plan, but when it starts to unravel he loses control and lashes out with blind rage. That is what you have just witnessed, and what you need to be afraid of now."

"You getting' all this, Cap'n?" muttered Zoe, and her words were transmitted through the surviving link between herself and the Rogue's former home.

"_Copy that,"_ floated Mal's voice. "_But she still hasn't told us what we're gonna do about it, and Nara's suggestion that we move on if she carries on talking double is soundin' ever more relevant."_

"Keep talkin'," suggested Zoe. The Operative obliged.

"Likely he will be accumulating power enough to annihilate us from existence."

"Such as?"

"Well, demolishing this entire city block wouldn't be an overreaction, considering his previous outbursts of rage."

"What?" asked Inara, her face falling. The Operative shrugged.

"He knows where we are. If he obliterates the building then we're sure to be dead."

"Then why ain't we a smoking pile of rubble yet?" demanded Zoe, her finger still tense on the trigger of her weapon.

"Because like I said, he is not quite an Operative. Somehow his ego has survived the transition of his training, and this is the stem of his anger. An Operative should be a complete non-entity, but he has retained a sense of self throughout the process that should have totally removed it. This is what gives us our advantage; he won't sacrifice himself just to kill us, as an Operative might. To him, no victory can be complete unless he can look down upon his opponent's defeated form and bask in the glory of his accomplishment."

"Where does this escape route lead?" asked Zoe.

"It ill take us down through the central spine of this building and emerge in the city's sewer system seventy three metres from its foundations."

"Then let's move," said Zoe, hoisting the rifle onto her shoulder. She produced a pistol from her belt, flipped it around in her hand so that the barrel was pointing towards her chest, and held it out towards Inara. "You want to watch our friend, or shall I?"

Inara regarded the weapon in Zoe's hand, and reflected upon the strain underlying the other woman's words. Minutes ago, Zoe had been pointing a weapon at the Companion and had been seriously considering shooting her in exchange for her husband's life. Not only that, but she had been deceiving Inara and everyone else for nearly a week, lying about the fact that she was being coerced by their enemies. This was the only practicable thing to do in their situation, but it was also an offering of peace and remorse.

Inara nodded firmly and seized the pistol from Zoe. She ejected the clip, checked the level of ammunition, slammed it back home and cocked it with proficiency.

"Let's go to work," she said confidently, accepting Zoe's offering. As they moved further away down the escape route, Inara registered the look of relief passing over Zoe's face and felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Zoe had mended one bridge, but she had yet to speak to Mal about her betrayal. That was not a conversation she was looking forward to being even remotely close to.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"Roger that," said Mal. "We'll meet you in the sewers." He signed off from the open comms link and surveyed the room. Andrews was keeping watch by the window, and Myers was standing, pale with fear, against the far wall. His eyes skimmed briefly over Simon and the man sitting on the couch, because his mind wasn't quite ready to accept that whoever it was might be Hoban Washburne.

"What are you going to do with me?" asked Roderick Myers in a small voice. Mal looked back over at the younger man.

"If you behave yourself, then nothin'," he said in what he hoped was a vaguely menacing tone. He turned to Simon. "Can he travel?"

The doctor shook off the look of disbelief long enough to respond. "I think so, if we support him."

Mal nodded. "Good. Get him on his feet, we need to go and meet up with the others." He walked to join Andrews by the window. "Anythin' happening?"

Andrews shook his head. "Whole load of nothin'. Makin' me nervous."

"Any access to the sewers?"

"What, a sewer grate? A visual object that would remind the high and mighty that they gotta crap too?"

Mal pursed his lips. "Hmm. Good point. Well we gotta be able to get down there somehow or this escape plan ain't gonna stick. He knows where _we_ are as well as the others, 'cause we got the kid."

Andrews nodded, a troubled expression falling across his younger features as the dire stakes crossed his mind. "I hear that."

"Might wanna leave me here," rumbled Jayne from the couch. "I might explode at any moment."

"Don't be such a baby," admonished Mal. "He wanted to kill you, he'd have done it by now. Just don't talk in case it's a transmitter too."

Jayne regarded him dumbly. "It _is_ a transmitter," he said. "It only tells him what I say, though." Mal's face fell and the true emotion he was feeling shone through. His features darkened into a mess of tiredness and pain.

"Then why are you still talkin'?" he growled, and Jayne wisely fell silent.

"He's ready," said Simon, propping up the still unconscious Wash over his shoulder. In his delirium Serenity's pilot could hold some of his weight, but could not stand unsupported. Simon hoped that this instinct would stretch to include walking. Failing that, they could always carry him. Mal paced from the window towards Myers.

"C'mon, kiddo," he said, waving his pistol at their hostage and covering up his feelings of betrayal with a normal front. "Let's go."

Roderick stumbled forward, eyeing Mal uneasily. "When my Dad catches up with us…"

Mal dismissed his threat with a scoff. "Yeah, whatever. I heard it all before. Keep walking."

"I got it!" exclaimed Andrews as they moved towards the door. "There's a storm drain not far from here – we walked past it on the way over from the apartment. We should be able to find a way into the sewers from there."

Mal nodded, his hand folding over the door handle. "Good. With any luck we can make it there…"

He swung the door open, revealing the presence of a police car and two officers walking down the small garden towards the house.

"…Without a hitch," finished Mal.

"Rut…" muttered Andrews as they slowed to a halt walking down the steps from the front door.

"It's okay," whispered Mal reassuringly. "We've been over this – they won't move against us 'cause they have strict instructions not to interfere with the Operative's plan."

"You sure about that?" asked Andrews nervously as the two cops took in the sight of the six men assembled awkwardly before the house.

"Malcolm Reynolds?" called one of the officers. Mal stepped forward.

"That'd be me. Say, you guys couldn't give us a lift, could you? We've got to get to…"

He stopped in mid-sentence, immediately regretting flaunting his so-thought position of power over the authorities when the two men reached for their side arms and an expression of alarm flowed across their faces. Mal went to draw his own pistol but he was too far behind the officers; they took aim quickly and started to squeeze the triggers of their weapons.

They were both hit simultaneously from across the street, both suffering a high-speed rifle wound to the heart. Before either of them had hit the ground several figures in full military camouflage broke from their cover in the house opposite and started to make their way towards Mal and his group. Though still shocked by the sudden turn of events, Mal had enough sense about him to recognise the man leading the assembly of soldiers.

"Graham?" he asked, slightly perplexed. Major Graham, the man who had fought their corner back on the New Independent's Home Base marched towards the Captain, a heavy rifle held competently in his arms.

"Captain," he said in greeting. He waved his men further along the street and they secured the area against further intrusions.

"What the hell are you doing here?" asked Mal, not unreasonably. Graham gestured that they begin to walk, and they did so, Simon and Jayne supporting Wash, and Andrews holding a pistol to Roderick's back.

"I'm afraid I haven't been totally forthright with you," confessed Graham with his trademark deadpan expression. "As you are aware, my commanding officers ordered an observer to join your crew, as well as installing a destruct mechanism on your ship. However, they made one additional order, this time in secret. I was to follow your ship in such a way that avoided detection, and proceed to follow you on the surface of any planet or moon you set down on with my men."

"You've been tracking us?" asked Andrews. Mal looked sideways and saw genuine outrage on his face; whatever Graham had been ordered to do, Andrews had not been privy to it.

"Yes. I'm sorry to have kept you in the dark about this, both of you, but I've been ordered to maintain radio silence, and explicitly ordered not to make my presence known to you unless it became absolutely necessary."

"What now?" asked Mal as they rounded the corner onto the street that held the off ramp leading to the storm drain. A group of civilians saw them at a distance and started to head in the opposite direction, but Graham barely paid them any heed as he continued to talk.

"We help you escape this planet. We don't know the specifics, but the power to the entire city has been disrupted and we detected an electromagnetic pulse not long ago. The main cortex has been restored on emergency backup but it won't last for more than a few hours, and the military has taken exclusive control of the system."

Mal nodded. "Yeah. It's kinda complicated but we need to meet with the rest of my crew down in the sewers. There's a Rogue Alliance Operative out for our blood, and we need to get out of here sharpish."

Graham hoisted his rifle as they started down the ramp that led to the storm drain and to the city's sewer network. "Sharpish is what we do best, Captain."

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Zoe hit the ground behind the Operative, Inara already ahead of them in the sewer tunnel itself. The escape route had led them to a grate, and falling through it had landed them in the waste of the city above them. The tunnel was dark and cast a blue pallor over the women gathered there. If Zoe had been a more poetical person – and more in a frame of mind to think such thoughts – she might have considered it ironic that she found herself wading in exactly what she was considered to be by the people who had produced that waste, but her mind was far too preoccupied, split between thoughts of Wash, and of what she would say to Mal, and how they were going to swing clear of this mess.

"Stay alert," said the Operative without turning around from where she stood between Inara and Zoe, her voice mingling with the sound of trickling water. "If you hold your weapon like that I could use the way your finger is secured inside the trigger mount as leverage to break your wrist."

Zoe snapped out of her reverie and reset her hand into a more secure position. "You want to try?" she asked menacingly.

The Operative cocked her head to the side, as if mentally accepting Zoe's proposal. "Very well," she said.

Her hand whipped backwards, snatching Zoe's wrist away so that when she fired the weapon it discharged into the side of the sewer tunnel. Three shots rang out, and before Inara had time to react the Operative positioned herself behind Zoe, bringing the first mate's arm up behind her back, leaving her almost prone in the Alliance agent's grip. Her other hand snatched the pistol from Zoe's weakened grip, and without hesitation the Operative aimed it at Inara's skull.

"Bang," she said. Then she placed the barrel of the weapon against Zoe's temple and repeated the gesture. "Bang."

Inara scowled at the Operative, relaxing her posture to a more neutral stance and lowering her own pistol. "Point well made. Can we move on now?"

The Operative regarded Inara with her dark, shielded eyes. "Only if we abandon this ridiculous pretence of holding me prisoner. As I have just demonstrated, I could kill you both easily. We are just wasting time by going through the motions with that particular exercise."

Inara shrugged. "Fine. Let Zoe go," she ordered with no small trace of iron in her voice. They stared at each other moments longer and then the Operative released Zoe, who fell towards Inara rubbing her tender arm.

"No more of these games," warned Zoe, and the Operative bowed slightly, indicating her acquiescence.

They started to march down the tunnel, and Zoe reactivated the open channel between herself and Mal.

"Cap'n, you there?" she asked. Within seconds, Mal's voice responded to her.

"_Aye. What's your progress?"_

"We're inside the sewer tunnels. Our Alliance friend tells us that she knows the way through them so we can reach the landing platform."

"Good. We've just entered a storm drain adjacent to the freight road leading away from seventy-third. We figure we can access the sewers from here."

The Operative moved to keep pace with Zoe. "Let me talk to him," she said, extending her hand towards the first mate. When all she received in reply was a frosty silence, she sighed and elaborated. "_Please,"_ she said with a mixture of civility, sarcasm and irritability. Zoe nodded her approval, removed the device from her ear and deposited t in the Operative's waiting palm.

"Tell me your exact location," she said once she had installed it correctly.

"_Storm drain off seventy-third,_" replied Mal. _"And you'd be the she-devil forcing my crew to work against me, am I right?"_

"That's right," returned the Operative without even a trace of guilt or self-consciousness. She breezed straight past the point without hesitating and continued with business. "That storm drain isn't part of the sewer network. You're going to have to exit the system and find another way in."

"_Well, okay,"_ said Mal. _"But we might run into trouble if we do."_

"What do you mean?"

"_As we were leaving the house we were attacked by some police officers. We managed to fend 'em off, but I thought it was odd that they'd be gunnin' for us, considering you're holding the reigns of the law enforcement round here."_ He decided that he would conceal Major Graham's presence from the Operative for now. Just in case he needed an ace in the hole.

The Operative's mind was working quickly. "Belay what I just told you," she said urgently. "Head further into the tunnel you occupy and into a door marked 'Maintenance'. From there descend the ladder and wait for me."

"_Thought you said the two networks are separate?"_

"Never mind that. Just get there as quickly as possible."

She deactivated the earwig and started to run, leaving Zoe and Inara trailing behind her.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Minutes later, Mal was peering down the hatch belonging to the ladder in question, surrounded by his companions.

"I don't like it," said Major Graham for the third time. He and his soldiers, however, all held back with a considerable display of discipline, none of them doing anything but staring ahead almost blankly. Four men travelled with Graham, and together with Mal and the others their group now numbered eleven.

"I don't much care for it myself," replied Mal, "But it don't look like we gotta choice."

He set his foot on the rungs of the ladder and started to descend.

"Be careful," said Simon, and Mal stopped to meet the doctor's gaze.

"You too," he replied evenly. He looked at the Major. "You stay here no matter what. I don't want her knowing you're all here."

Graham shook his head. "I agree that concealing our presence is the smartest tactical move, however the last thing you should be doing is trusting an Operative of the Alliance with your survival."

Mal shrugged. "Like I said, it's complicated. Just stay here."

He descended the ladder and found himself in a small chamber filled with old, rusting tools. A single light source flickered valiantly in the dark, the small bulb swinging gently from the centre of the ceiling.

"Captain?" floated a disembodied voice. Mal looked around, confused.

"Yeah?" he replied.

"Look in the corner."

A quick search revealed that the corner of the room had eroded away leaving an uneven tear in the concrete, through which Mal could see through into the chamber below. Zoe and Inara stood looking up at him next to a familiar figure.

"Hey," said Mal. "You're the one who let me into Myers' apartment building."

The Operative nodded. "Yes. I engineered that situation to draw out our common enemy, the Rogue."

"How's that working out for you?" asked Mal smugly, and the Operative almost looked annoyed.

"Do you have access to the cortex network?" she asked, side-stepping Mal's inflammatory question. He shrugged.

"I got a portable node with me from when you called me up and threatened Inara's life over a live video feed not two hours ago," he said with a trace of fire audible in his voice. "Don't know if it can access the network."

The Operative nodded, once again appearing utterly unfazed that Mal had mentioned an act she had carried out in order to fulfil her scheme. "Let me have it," she said.

As carefully as he could, Mal started to press the small communications device through the tear in the floor without damaging it. The device received a fair number of scratches and a coating of dust from dislodged concrete, but it fell through the hole and into the Operative's waiting hands. She began to work on the device quickly, withdrawing from the people around her completely.

"You all right?" asked Mal through the gap, and Zoe nodded.

"We're fine," she replied. Mal's eyes found hers even through the tiny gap in the ceiling.

"I was talking to Inara," he said icily, and Inara could almost feel the temperature drop sharply as Zoe shrank back from Mal's harsh words.

"We're fine," replied Inara pointedly, including Zoe in her reply. "What about all of you?"

"Been better," was the curt reply.

"Happy family," muttered the Operative, proving that she was not as withdrawn as she appeared to be.

"You got something to say?" barked Mal, but the Operative stood up, her face intently scanning the words streaming across the modified device in her hands.

"He's issued an Executive Order," she said, her face troubled. However, she was the only one who understood the full impact of the situation.

"Like when the Prime Minister issues emergency directives?" asked Inara.

The Operative shook her head. "Nothing as trivial as that," she dismissed. "An Operative has the power to take direct control of the entire system's military if need be. They only have to issue the order."

"Let me guess, you forgot to take that power away from him when he went AWOL," commented Mal dryly, earning him a dark upward look from the Operative.

"There is no way to revoke his access other than to kill him, which is what I have been attempting to do," she almost spat.

"Shall we get back on topic, children?" asked Inara reproachfully. The Operative glanced at her begrudgingly; not wanting to admit Mal had drawn her into a battle of words.

"If Operatives have that power, why don't they use it more often?" asked Zoe.

"We have no need to. The Alliance has an army of countless soldiers, the highest technical capacity of any group in the system, perhaps save Blue Sun, the most advanced weaponry and a fleet of hundreds of warships, but their Operatives remain their most powerful instruments. We work from the shadows, striking at our enemies without mercy or regard for cost. If an Operative is assigned to a case, then likely the traditional armed forces are either incapable or ill equipped to deal with the situation. Getting them involved is a step down on the proverbial food chain for us."

"Your friend doesn't seem to think so," said Mal. The Alliance agent looked up at him.

"No. I had thought he might commandeer a vessel and order it to fire upon our last known position, but it seems I misjudged him. Instead he has ordered all of the military forces on the planet to hunt you down and shoot you on sight."

"Not the best news I've had today," said Mal.

"I have issued another Executive Order countermanding the one he made, ordering any forces that encounter you to assist in any way they can."

"…But?" asked Inara, sensing that there was more to this simple solution.

"I cannot erase his order," said the Operative sullenly. "Now the combined might of the Alliance military here have two diametrically opposed Executive Orders, and they will disregard any other duties in order to fulfil them."

"Well…which will they follow?" enquired Zoe. The Operative shrugged.

"That's up to them. I'd suggest that it's safer to assume that any Alliance forces we encounter will be hostile."

"We might get lucky," said Inara optimistically. "They could disregard the initial order and everyone could help us."

"Us? Luck?" asked Mal, and the Companion almost visibly wilted, seeing fully that her words were almost certainly folly.

"That's the best case scenario," said the Operative.

"And the worst would be that everyone is out for our blood," called Mal.

The Alliance agent pondered the point. "No. The worst case scenario is that a fully blown civil war erupts between two opposing factions, one following each of the Executive Orders. The entire city will be plunged into chaos, and collateral damage will be severe."

Zoe almost squinted at the Operative. "Didn't think you cared 'bout the small folk," she said. The Operative returned her look with dead eyes.

"I don't. Millions of people stand to die tonight, but my only objective is seeing you safely off this planet. There is simply more of a chance that one or more of you will be caught in the destruction caused by the crossfire between the two groups."

Mal sighed. "Alright, enough talkin'," he said, growing weary of lying on his belly, staring through a hole in some concrete. "What did his order say about his kid?"

"That he was to be protected at all costs."

"And what are the ground rules with him? He a part of your plan too?"

"He is useful to me as a means to reach our Rogue," said the Operative impassively. "However you also fit that particular niche. I have no real need for him to remain alive. Do with him as you wish."

"Well ain't that a whole new ethical conun…" said Mal, but their conversation was interrupted as the entire tunnel lifted off the ground and bounced around them, shaken by a catastrophically powerful blast. A deafening eruption of sound tore at their ears, and the structure of the tunnel was torn apart, so mighty was the strength of the concussive force. The tear Mal lay above ripped like paper, the entire ceiling caving in within a second, leaving the man helpless to plummet the ten feet into the sewer below him.

Moments later the noise passed, leaving the tunnel stable, though in pieces. The only sounds were of displaced rubble clattering from wherever it had been displaced from, and the trickle of dust as the crushed concrete surrendered to the might of its aggressor.

The Operative sat up from where she had fallen to the ground of the tunnel, coughing up a voluminous amount of dust from her lungs.

"What the rut was that?" groaned Zoe, pushing a brick from her chest. The Alliance agent looked across at the first mate.

"It seems my first assessment was correct," she surmised. "The Rogue appears to have fired an orbital cannon at the building we recently vacated."

"He's insane," said Inara as she painfully prised herself from the floor. "He's really insane. How many people have just died because of what he did? Because of us?"

"Not insane," said the Operative. "Harshly rational, and without any conscience. Prepared to sacrifice anything to further his goals."

"Not everything," said a muffled male voice. Mal's hand pushed its way through a pile of rubble, and the two members of his crew rushed to assist him. Their Captain slowly appeared from underneath piles of dust and detritus, and he coughed painfully. "He won't sacrifice his son, or we'd have heard another impact by now destroying the house he knew we were with him in."

"Mal!" echoed a shocked voice from above. Mal peered through the ruined ceiling of the room above and saw the concerned faces of the group of men he had arrived with looking down at them, Andrews in front of them all. Mal waved to them to prove he had not been broken too badly during the fall.

"Looks like I'm stuck with the ladies from here on in," he called up to them. The ladder had been torn from the now fractured wall he had climbed down from, meaning that there was now a straight drop of at least twenty feet separating the two groups. Anyone attempting the descent would have to be very brave, or just plain stupid. And would either way likely end up with two broken legs. Someone up above kicked a stray tool down the hole, emphasising the point as it clattered and bounced harshly against the jagged edges of the ruined room. Mal sidestepped the falling object as it hit the ground and skittered away. He coughed again, trying to clear his lungs of the clinging dust.

"What do we do?" came Simon's voice. The Operative came to stand beside Mal, staring upwards at the assembled men.

"The soldiers who travel with you should have a tracking device that will enable you to follow the beacon on board the Firefly at the docking platforms. It should be safely outside the blast radius of the EMP triggered earlier, and so should have retained full functionality."

Mal cast her a sideways glance, reassessing her. He had tried to conceal the fact that Major Graham had caught up with them, but it seemed that she knew about it even before he did.

"Try and get to the ship and hold tight for us there," he affirmed to his troops up above. "I know you can't access the sewers from up there, but do your best to feel your way through the tunnels. And avoid the Alliance patrols no matter what you do."

There was some muttering to be heard from up above, but within moments there was a shuffling of feet and the men started to file away from the hole that Mal had fallen down as they departed for their objective. Mal now openly gazed at the Operative.

"You have this sewer system memorised?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Most of it."

"And you knew about Graham and the others."

She shrugged. "I didn't know his name, but thank you for the information."

"Anything you don't know 'bout this whole thing?"

The Operative stared at him with those dark eyes that acted as mirrors; reflecting the viewer's gaze so that it was impossible to gauge what was happening beneath them. "Not much. Knowledge is power, Captain. That much must surely be evident to you by now, after everything that has happened to you."

Mal set his jaw, knowing that he would not succeed in a confrontation with her. "I don't like this," he said openly. "And I don't like you. But right now it seems like you want for us to live through this, and you're our best shot of making it out of here in one piece."

The Operative nodded and went to move away, but Mal grabbed her by the elbow, drawing his face close to his own.

"But the second we are free and clear, don't think that I'll hesitate for a second before I end you," he whispered into her ear. She turned to regard him and almost smiled.

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't," she whispered back. They stood for moments, Mal staring with intense hatred and the Operative returning his glare with a cool, unfazed demeanour. Then she shook her elbow free and started to move away.

With no other option open to him, Mal jerked his head towards Inara and Zoe, and the three survivors of Serenity fell in line behind their enemy as she led them to safety.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Cullen Sheridan stood before the main window on the bridge of the unnamed Firefly-class transport and watched the city burn. An immense pillar of smoke flared towards the sky as the buildings within the northern sector of Mithras shone with the crimson intensity of raging flames. A massive burst of energy had streamed down from the sky, impacting with devastating force. The lights at the end of the landing platform still shone happily but within the darkened area of the city the flames illuminated the surrounding buildings with their fiery glow.

"What is going on tonight?" he muttered to himself. He had tried to contact the authorities, but the cortex was out. He had tried to disembark the Firefly but the controls would not respond to his touch. He was locked on board the ship with no way of reaching the outside world. And worse, he was almost certain that the alien creature he had earlier witnessed, the one the maniacs who had kidnapped him had named Oaty, was still on the ship with him.

He took a seat behind the computer terminal again, an uneasy feeling fermenting within him. The others must surely be involved with the explosion and the blackout – whatever their aims were, there was now enough evidence to prove that they were a malevolent threat to the security of the entire planet. He wished that he had never crossed their path, but that provided another conundrum.

Cullen had no idea how he had come to wake up on board the motley group's stolen transport. The last he could remember he had fallen into his own bed back on Coria and came to consciousness again on a ship deep in the Black. To say he felt small and frightened was an understatement, and what didn't help the feeling was that the people he had woken up with appeared to be systematically and proficiently demolishing the capital city of the Alliance.

His eyes found the computer terminal again, where streams of computer code danced around. He had encountered Zoe and Jayne leaving the ship with the mysterious stranger they had taken prisoner, and he had told Cullen to decrypt the computer node he had brought on board in order to find answers. In the absence of anything better to do, he had begun the process of decryption.

Mal, the leader of the band, had previously asked him to hack into the system of the Alliance Navy troop transport he had woken up on, and the process of doing so had been ridiculously easy – and Mal believed it was deliberately so. Not this node, however. This time Cullen's skills were being taxed to their limit; every time he stripped one layer of code away, three more revealed themselves to him.

However there were answers buried beneath the code, and he was determined to find them. He hoped that whatever was contained within the node would reveal his true nature to Cullen, and to everyone else he had encountered.

Unfortunately, he was exactly right.

A/N:

_Get me. I thought this would take ages, but evidently not. Hopefully the next one will be with you soon. Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Oh, and I got a new MacBook recently and the keyboard seems to be less responsive than my iBook. Basically, if there are a load of spelling errors that's why. I tried to get them all, but some might have slipped through. _

_Kong:  
1) I was going in one direction with Oaty, but changed my mind because I felt it was too over the top. So at the moment nothing clear, but he'll figure back in eventually.  
2) I'd say that it's almost certain, but as for when, you'll have to wait and see._


	25. Day Nine: Bitter End

**Day Nine**

**Bitter End**

_"…reports are coming in that a massive explosion has devastated downtown Mithras just moments ago…"_

_"…__speculations that an energy line detonated have been dismissed as…"_

_"…__unclear whether the explosion and the earlier disruption of the city's power network are linked…"_

_"…__appear that a naval orbital cannon misfired during a routine training exercise. Officials are advising citizens to remain calm and stay in their homes…"_

_"…__death toll may have reached the five thousand mark, the explosion occurring within a densely populated area of the city…"_

_"…have repeated their warning that all citizens within the Mithras residential district remain securely in their homes and not venture out under any circumstances."_

Cullen switched off the cortex and returned to staring out of the forward screen of the ship at the pillar of smoke and flame rising from the city before the setting sun. Whatever was going on, he hoped it would be over soon.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"Okay," said Jayne, as if finalising a discussion. "So I'm in charge."

Simon stared at him, his face perplexed. "What? None of us has said anything since we left that room."

Jayne returned the look. "Yeah. But I'm in charge."

"I don't think so," said Simon.

"Well you can't do anything about it this time, can you?" asked Jayne smugly. "No sedatives for miles around."

"I can do something about it," said Andrews darkly. Jayne stopped walking along the ruined maintenance tunnel and whirled to face the shorter, thinner, younger man.

"What's that, squirt?" growled Jayne. Andrews stared unflinchingly at his aggressor.

"I said you'll be in charge over my dead, deceased corpse," he said.

"I can arrange that," said Jayne with a smile, moving towards the other man. Andrews lifted a finger and waved it at Jayne.

"Ah-ah. I wouldn't." He jerked his thumb to the side. "They're with me."

A sideways glance revealed Graham and his tactical unit ready to spring forward and seize Jayne, should he make a false move. The mercenary narrowed his eyes, and something might have erupted between the two groups but Simon defused the situation.

"Oh my God…" he whispered and rushed forward to the exit of the tunnel.

He mounted the rubble that was all that remained of the ramp that led up into the storm drain, and out into the open world. His jaw fell slack.

To his right, where there was once a healthy skyline not less than an hour ago, there was…nothing. The buildings of the city simply ended and began again. A gaping hole yawned open where there should be tenement blocks, commercial and industrial buildings. The park Simon had walked through on his way here was ash. The storm drain led towards the devastation, turning slowly from regular concrete into the blackened crater that stretched an impossible distance. It was as if the drain led directly into some kind of Hell, complete with burning fire and brimstone.

"But…" muttered Simon, his mind reeling against the reality of the destruction before him. "All of those…"

"Better them than us," growled Jayne as he moved to join Simon, Andrews and the other New Independents trailing behind them. The doctor turned to Jayne, aghast.

"But it's so senseless," he said, still in shock. "How many people died here so that man can settle his vendetta?"

Jayne shook his head. "C'mon, Doc. You should know better'n that. He ain't a man."

"We need to go," said Andrews gently, interrupting Simon's quiet reflection. "He knows where we were and he's a real good tracker."

"We need to get back to the ship," said Jayne, casting a dark look over at Major Graham and his static troopers. They seemed to be just as emotionless as their superior officer.

Simon nodded, bringing himself back to reality. "Yes. I ought to examine…uh, Wash, and help him as best I can."

Jayne and Simon regarded the limp form of the pilot leaning for support against one of Graham's men. They quickly looked away. Neither of them could process that particular thought just yet.

"I want to find Mal," said Andrews. "I think he'll need our help before the night ends."

"He told us to get back to the ship," asserted Simon. Andrews shrugged.

"I know, but I'm not part of his crew, remember? I'll tell Graham to escort you back. I'll find an entrance down into the sewers and maybe get lucky."

"I think we should go back to the ship," said Simon calmly.

"Didn't realise you were so stuck on followin' orders?" asked Andrews with a hint of derision in his voice. He had been aware that the Operative was subverting Simon as long as the Alliance agent had been in contact with the Doctor, and he had been the one to reveal Simon's flirtation with betrayal to Mal.

The doctor shrugged. "I'm not in the military. I don't have to follow any orders. But going back to the ship is the right thing to do."

"And you can do that. But I'm gonna go find Mal."

"We can't get separated. If you go running off now, our group will be fractured even more and we'll just end up having to go looking for you."

"Feel free to leave me behind if you…"

"Look," snapped Simon, cutting off the other man. "After everything that's happened in the last week, I'm not going to be the one running around like an idiot, looking for people we have no chance of finding. I won't have the outsider be the one to risk his life to help my supposed friends before I do. I can't. You're coming back to the ship because that's what Mal told us what to do, and that's just final. I can't be the one who doesn't venture off on some fool's errand to try and help the people I'm meant to care about but heartlessly betrayed."

There was an awkward silence after Simon's outburst before Jayne cocked his head back towards the partially collapsed tunnel entrance.

"What about Junior?"

Myers stood cautiously observing his captors at a distance, aware that any sudden bid for freedom might find him at the business end of a speeding bullet. Andrews shrugged.

"I guess we take him with us." He eyed Simon. "With us back to the ship," he said grudgingly.

Simon immediately moved towards their prisoner, a hard look in his eyes, as Andrews directed Major Graham back towards the Firefly that had brought the crew to Londinium. The doctor's resolve faltered as he glanced sideways to find Jayne keeping pace beside him.

"You're coming with us?" he asked with no small amount of surprise in his voice. Jayne looked away.

"Guess so," he said quietly. "You want to make somethin' of it?"

Simon shook his head quickly. "No. No, I just…" He trailed away, knowing better than to press the subject. "No."

Several minutes later, the group of men had departed towards their destination.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Half an hour after Simon and the others wandered into the burning red of the Londinium sky, Mal and his group found their way to set eyes upon the same light. "We have to be careful," said the Operative as the other team from the Firefly class ship emerged into the dusk of the open sky. Mal squinted at the sudden brightness compared to that of the darkness of the tunnel.

"And why's that?" he asked sardonically. The Operative looked back at him.

"Because the military forces of this planet have two conflicting orders; one to protect us and the other to cause us harm. And I'd advise you stop trying to vex me, Captain. It won't work."

"Yeah, I've heard that one before."

They started to cautiously walk along the street the sewer access point fed out onto. After the massive explosion had rocked the city less than an hour previously, the streets were all but deserted as they moved along. Inara stepped forward to walk side by side with the Operative.

"What's your plan?" she asked of the Alliance agent. She received an almost disgusted sideways glance from the other woman.

"What makes you think that you would be able to understand it, even if I told you?" returned the Operative.

"I think you'll find I'm quite capable of comprehending basic concepts such as plans and schemes," replied Inara smoothly.

"Very well. I am enacting the thirty-seventh procedural course of action outlined in my basic training. When I have achieved this objective I plan to proceed to the fifty-ninth. However, such situations as a nine-two-four and a seven-six-eight may arise in the mean time, which would necessitate I alter my plan to attempt the twenty-second procedural course of action outlined in my basic training."

"You are not the easiest person to work with," commented Inara, but her words trailed away as a siren drowned her out and a police car screamed around the corner onto the street behind them. On instinct the Operative turned to face the wall and pulled Inara alongside her, and Mal and Zoe fell in line beside them.

"What's wrong?" asked Zoe, and the Operative cast an uncertain glance behind her.

"It's not just them," she said, referring to the police car, which began to slow in its crazed course. "They could call for backup if they saw us. By this time the global military will have been assembled to be deployed alongside the police forces remaining in the city. The National Guard as well as the Navy and Army will be searching for us, all of them having received two directly conflicting Executive Orders."

"One that says kill us on sight, the other that says to help us any way they can," Mal repeated. "Wonder which one they're following?" he said, indicating the police car, which began to stop further down the road.

"I'd suggest we don't stay to find out," said the Operative. "If they were to help us, they would have approached us by now. Instead they sit and wait. They have called for assistance and are awaiting backup."

"Would this class as a nine-two-four or a seven-six-eight?" asked Inara dryly, but the Operative was watching the skies, not listening to the Companion. Her dark, veiled eyes scanned the visible dusk between buildings, frowning intently.

The three standing beside her began to feel the energy of the situation change. The Alliance agent was like an animal reacting to an oncoming storm.

"What is it?" asked Mal, apprehension almost leaking into his voice.

In answer to his question, a troop transport of the same class they had stolen from the Alliance roared between the buildings surrounding them, its deployment ramp fully extended, Alliance troops swarming around the open entry ready to descend upon their target. Standing in the midst of all of them was a dreadfully familiar figure leering down upon them, a sword in one hand and a riot shield in the other. The Rogue had found them.

The transport screamed closer, its engines searing the buildings it flew between, but that did not stop its rapid descent. It drew closer and closer within seconds, and the three surrounding the Operative took an involuntary step backwards. The female agent stood transfixed, never breaking eye contact with the man she had disavowed and who had returned to wreak his vengeance upon her and the Alliance she embodied.

"What's the plan?" asked Inara, unconsciously echoing her former words; this time with none of the subtle sarcasm she had filled her previous question with.

The Operative's mind raced, and Inara realised in an instant what was so distressing about this fact. This woman had been engineering their paths for the past week, each time knowing exactly how to influence and cajole her targets into doing exactly what she wanted. She had plans within plans, and appeared to know precisely where she wanted the crew of the Serenity to be and why. Each time she had faced adversity she moved to a backup plan with military precision, knowing what to do and what to say to keep her intentions for them intact.

But now she stood unmoving as a troop transport full of soldiers who wanted to tear them all apart flew towards them, only seconds away, not doing anything but staring at her adversary as he soared towards her, ready to end them all.

There was no plan. This was it. End of the line. Back against the wall. The Operative had run out of ideas. And in a move that perfectly cemented Inara's almost paralysing fear, the woman who, at the moment, wanted to keep them all alive, finally broke from her incapacity.

"_RUN!_" she screamed, turning on her heel and starting to sprint away from the oncoming transport. Inara and the others unleashed their stored nervous energy, expelling it on the process of running as fast as they could humanly move away from the man ready to hack them apart with his shining blade of steel.

As the transport screamed above them, the Operative veered sideways into an open doorway and her charges followed her closely, feet pounding on concrete and wood as they entered the structure. The engines howled outside, a swirling storm of dust whipping around the street below the ship as it hovered outside, the soldiers preparing to disembark imminently.

The Alliance agent smashed through a closed door and the quartet emerged in a dirty storeroom filled with boxes and exposed heating pipes. Catching the others by surprise, she slowed to a halt in an instant, her eyes surveying the room with her signature fierce intelligence. Hope welled within Inara as she saw that the Operative's senses might be restoring to their previous condition.

"What now?" panted Mal as he fought to catch his breath. The Operative strode to where a cargo elevator had sat unnoticed behind a large stack of boxes and pressed the call button. Then she turned to the heating pipes and drew her sword. Swiftly she cleaved through the metal tube once near to the ceiling. Steam hissed and escaped from the steel enclosure, and as the sound of many booted feet hitting the street filtered in through the structure they inhabited, the Operative drove her own into the pipe, bending and twisting it with a savage, desperate energy to point towards the door they had just entered. She cut another of the pipes, this time twice, and the two foot long extracted section clattered to the ground. She turned to face the door that was now bathed in escaping steam and levelled her sword at the opening as the many boots started to clamber through the building.

"Now we wait for the elevator to arrive," she replied. Inara threw a worried look in her direction.

"Your plans are becoming less sinister and more terrifying," she commented as Zoe wrapped rags she had sequestered from an open box around her hands and picked up the severed piece of heating pipe, wielding it as a club. Mal fired up his own pistol, and Inara still held the one she had taken from the Operative. She hurriedly checked it, her heart pounding in her chest.

"At least one of you will survive," instructed the Operative quickly as the sound of pounding feet grew ever nearer, the progress of their enemies hidden from view behind the curtain of steam. "He will need to torture you to ascertain the location of his son. He will most likely send a first wave of troops in and accompany the second wave. No matter what happens he will attempt to kill me. If he succeeds, you must evade him, return to your ship and escape the planet."

"That was kinda the plan already," said Mal wryly. He stared at the doorway resolutely, and Inara tried to emulate some of the strength he was displaying. Having inhabited one of their troop transports for several days, she knew all too well how many people the ship could house, and she knew that not only that number of people was racing towards her now, but a former Operative of the Alliance was with them. She drew a shaky breath and aimed dead centre at the sabotaged gateway to the room.

The sound of boots reached a crescendo and the Operative's stance grew even tighter.

"Here they come!" she cried as the first Alliance soldiers emerged through the blanket of steam.

They faced a fully armed and equipped squad of urban pacification troops, outfitted with riot shields and blunt batons held ready to club their prey into pacification. They wore gas masks, and as they raced through the wall of steam their goggles were momentarily covered with fog as the hot gas condensed on the hard plastic. Blinded for a split second, the first troops to emerge had no defence to offer the Operative as she mercilessly struck them down with her sword, the fortified blade shearing effortlessly through the riot shields held defensively before the attacking troops. Six soldiers had fallen within moments, but the sheer volume of aggressors pouring through the doorway quickly overwhelmed the Operative. The raw force of the attackers pushed her back, and the first trooper to clear the trap of the steam and see clearly saw the last thing he would ever see – the sight of Mal aiming and firing his weapon between the man's eyes.

The melee swirled to expand the three members of the Serenity, Zoe falling upon the exposed flank of the aggressors, crushing bones as she drove her hot metal pipe into vulnerable areas not protected by the soldiers' extensive body armour, with Mal and Inara providing fire support. Deafening reports exploded throughout the small space, accompanied by the faint clatter of expended shells bouncing to the ground. But as before, the quartet was driven back by the sheer weight of human force being directed towards them, and almost instantly Mal found himself set upon by two troopers on close quarters combat. He seized a box from his side and deflected the first blows delivered by the two batons, but then one caught him in the side and he fell to the ground. The Operative ran to assist him, but at that moment the second wave of soldiers started to emerge through the almost ethereal portal of steam, and with them was the Rogue. With no mask to impede his vision he reacted instantly to the situation, raising his sword to meet Zoe's attack. Inara fired off three rounds towards him but the riot shield he held absorbed the slugs.

The men attacking Mal fell but the Operative found herself cut off from the other two women by the oncoming horde of the Rogue's minions. The former Alliance agent batted aside Zoe's attack almost disdainfully, bringing his sword down in a brutal strike that Zoe tried to block with her section of pipe. His blade cut cleanly through the detached section of the heating system and Zoe was forced even further back as the male threatened to overwhelm her defences.

"Inara!" called the Operative over the din of the battle, and the Companion turned to face her. Without hesitation the Operative tossed her sword towards the other woman, and Inara, on reflex, seized the hilt of the weapon firmly in her palm, snatching it out of the air. She whirled upon the Rogue as the Operative engulfed the nearest trooper's defences, snatching the baton from her hand and wrenching the riot shield from her arm. She returned to the fray as Inara reached the beleaguered Zoe, sword held confidently in front of her.

Immediately she set upon the exposed back of the Rogue, but he had somehow sensed her approach and his sword darted deftly backwards, sweeping her strike aside. She adapted quickly, and the pair settled into a stance adopted by fencing dualists. They exchanged a flurry of blows and then Zoe, recovered from the Rogue's attack, flew towards him with her two severed pieces of piping. He turned and batted her to the side with his shield, and Inara was forced aside to deal with an attacking trooper.

Meanwhile the Operative had cut a swath cleanly through the centre of the room, ruthlessly dispatching enemy after enemy as Mal supported her. Seeing that Zoe was struggling to fend off the experienced combatant with just two pieces of metal, Mal levelled his weapon at the Rogue and started to fire off shots. Deflected by the shield and the man's armour, the rounds impacted the walls and floor of the room, powdered concrete filling the air. Though they did him no damage, the Rogue's attention was diverted, allowing Zoe to penetrate his defences and smash the side of his head with one of her pipe pieces.

As he fell sideways, rolling into a defensive position, the third wave of soldiers entered the room at the same moment the cargo elevator _binged_ cheerfully. The third wave of soldiers held shotguns.

"_Elevator!"_ roared the Operative, all but picking up Mal and throwing him through the open doors.

Zoe set upon the nearest third wave trooper, taking advantage once again of his limited visibility having passed through the curtain of steam engulfing the door. He quickly fell as she brutally clubbed him on the skull and she quickly abandoned the pieces of piping that had thus far served her well, requisitioning the fallen man's shotgun. She fired into the crowd of troopers and they scattered, seeking shelter behind their shields.

Inara started towards the elevator but the Rogue appeared in front of her, grinning evilly with his sword held high. She darted forward with her own blade and they fell into a practiced technique with Inara pressing the offensive. The Rogue performed a feint that Inara fell for, overextending herself and opening up her defences. The Rogue took full advantage of the opportunity, using his shield like a club and sweeping the Companion aside into the wall. He punched at Inara's face but she ducked quickly, his fist impacting the bricks and mortar behind her.

Inara seized the pistol she had set aside to use the sword instead of and shoved it into the Rogue's side, firing wildly. Even at such close range the slugs did little permanent damage, but they delivered a shocking amount of force to the man's kidney, succeeding in winding him and staggering him to the side. Relentless, Inara drove her forehead into the bridge of the man's nose, utterly defeating him. He fell onto his back as the Companion retreated into the cargo elevator where Mal and the Operative waited for her.

Zoe stormed towards their escape as the soldiers behind her started to arise from their shelter and the Operative hit the controls that would allow them to leave. The doors started to slide closed and Zoe flew inside as the Rogue rose to his feet behind her. She pushed the muzzle of the shotgun between the closing doors as he started towards them, intent on blocking the elevator from leaving with his body. She squeezed the trigger as he swept his riot shield in front of him, succeeding in blocking the shrapnel from damaging him, but the explosive force of the weapon blasted him backwards and into the oncoming horde of troopers. They scattered like bowling pins and, triumphantly, the elevator doors rolled shut and the car started to rise.

Suddenly all that was audible was panting, and Inara performed a visual check of everyone. Nobody seemed to have been permanently injured, though Mal's lip was bleeding and Zoe had some blood on her forehead. The Operative looked pristine, as if nothing had just happened.

"Got a next step to your plan?" asked the Companion.

"We need to secure transport," she said. "We make for the spaceport."

"Where does this lead?" asked Mal, referring to the elevator. The Operative shrugged.

"My knowledge of the city extends only to established escape routes," she replied. Zoe's eyes boggled.

"You mean you don't know where we are?"

"No. We are far beyond an established escape at this point."

Mal sighed, his patience finally expiring. He stood up straighter and addressed the others.

"Enough," he said, his breath still coming short. "We never should'a trusted you to get us this far in the first place."

"I'm touched, Captain," replied the Operative with a trace of sarcasm in her voice. "You trusted me."

Ignoring her, Mal continued with his speech. "We gotta get out of this building, onto a main road and hijack a car, or something. If we tear hell-for-leather towards the spaceport we might get there ahead of our pals."

"Why don't we use her as a distraction?" asked Zoe, nodding towards the Operative. "He doesn't want us, he wants her."

"It's my duty to get you off this planet safely," said the Operative. "I won't allow you to leave my sight until I know for certain that you will leave orbit unharmed."

"Won't allow?" growled Zoe, but at that moment the elevator arrived at its destination, the doors sliding open as they had done on every other day. Mal waved off his first mate.

"Not now," he ordered, marching out of the car and into the flashy foyer of what looked like an office building. "She might be useful to us, so she stays. If nothin' else she's good in a fight and she's on our side. For now. We just gotta keep our heads down and…"

He rounded the corner to the sight of what must be hundreds of Alliance troopers assembled outside the huge glass walls that served as the entrance.

"…Hope we don't run into trouble," he finished as he stopped walking. The craft that had pursued them hovered above the massed ranks of the soldiers, and the roaring in the distance could only mean that more were on the way. This time the enemy was equipped with more than just riot gear – an armed response unit from the national guard had joined the division that had tracked them down first. In a moment Mal realised he had been naïve to think that they might be able to outrun the Alliance in its very core. This was the capital city of the capital world. There were sensors everywhere, and more police than anywhere else in the system. He took a cautious step backwards as the troopers glared menacingly into the building, trying to determine if the group of people inside were the ones they had been ordered to track down.

Inara turned to Zoe. "How many shells are left in that shotgun?" she asked.

"Four," was the tense reply.

"Right. I think we might have to run again."

"Y'think?"

As one they turned and bolted towards the large set of stairs in the centre of the foyer, several seconds ahead of the Alliance division verifying their identities and ordering the assault. The building had emptied of workers hours earlier, and as a result the main doors were locked shut. Breach charges were quickly set, and the fleeing quartet had barely reached the first floor when the glass entry was blasted open, showering the interior with razor sharp transparent shards.

"Faster!" roared the Operative as the collective mass of the Alliance poured through the shattered doors, hustling up the stairs with a practiced efficiency. They had reached the third floor when a familiar voice floated up from below them, amplified through a loudspeaker.

"_I have you,"_ came the Rogue's voice, full of adrenaline and the thrill of having his prey cornered. _"Accept that I've won and face your death with whatever dignity you have left."_ His voice shook as he spoke, and that could only mean one thing – he was running as he uttered his words. He was coming up the stairwell after them.

With their lungs drawing ragged breaths into their bodies and with burning legs, the fugitives pounded up the stairwell, but their fatigue was working against them. The Alliance was catching up with them, step by step.

_"There will be great shame in your death,"_ mocked their relentless pursuer. _"You will die having failed to protect your charges, and having failed your mission."_

The Operative's dark eyes refused to pay him any heed, and focussed on the task of ensuring her charges' safety.

_"These are the final minutes of your life, and you choose to spend them fleeing like an animal. So be it. I am your end."_

And with a sense of great despair, they mounted the next flight of stairs to find that there were no more. They had reached the top of the building. The Operative continued, not losing any of her momentum, and charged down the right-hand corridor.

"Here!" she cried, hauling open a door, any door, and ushering the other three inside. They found themselves in a nondescript office, filled with desks and computer terminals. The lights were out, but the light of the dusk streamed in through a long window that covered one side of the wall. The Operative wasted no time, slamming the door shut and starting to heave objects in front of it. Desks, personal items, chairs, even a potted plant were thrown in front of the single entrance to the room in a bid to prevent their pursuers gaining entry. But within a minute there were heavy footsteps bounding towards the door and the Operative waved Mal, Inara and Zoe behind her.

"You have to live," she instructed them fiercely, emotion starting to show on her face fully for the first time. "You have to find a way." She grasped Mal's hand tightly, staring at him intently. He frowned and started to glance down at his fist, but another breach charge had been set against the door. The Operative flung herself in front of him as the explosion boomed through the room, obliterating their pitiful barricade.

Mal picked himself up as the first troops entered the room – men with riot shields led the charge, with the armed response unit crouched behind their cover. Zoe roared with rage and fired at the oncoming soldiers, but their shields absorbed the slugs with ease. After four rounds boomed from the muzzle of the shotgun it clicked empty, and with nothing else at her disposal Zoe flung the weapon at their enemy. It bounced harmlessly from the hardened plastic of their shields and they continued their relentless advance.

Mal crouched behind a desk and started to fire out at the advancing troops, but his rounds found no better luck than Zoe's did. The energy cell in his pistol finally sputtered and died as their pursuers closed in on him. He tried to fight as the shock troopers emerged from behind their cover but he was brutally suppressed by half a dozen batons that rose and fell upon his body again and again, driving him to the ground and battering his body. With a cry Inara flew forward, the Operative's sword held high. With a great swing she cleaved through a plastic shield, but the trooper behind it was unhurt. With great agility he leaped backwards, evading the Companion's next strike, and one of his allies shot forward, firing with a stun gun. Tiny electrodes shot from the weapon, latching into Inara's skin, and an electric current flowed through her body, enough to momentarily paralyse her. Her muscles jammed rigid, and the sword slid from her grasp as a similar device disabled Zoe.

The Operative, who had been grimly engaging three troops at once with only her stolen baton, knocked her attackers back, and this was her undoing. With enough clearance from hitting a friendly target, an Alliance soldier had enough time to level his rifle at her and fire. His aim was true, and a high powered round lanced through the air and exploded through her armour, shattering the hard but flexible metal, and through her knee. She cried with pain and fell to the ground, the baton slipping from her fingers.

The three crew members of the late Serenity were roughly drawn to the side and forced onto their knees with their hands behind their heads in a row, and in the moments of silence that followed, the Rogue stepped into the room.

His cold, blue eyes fixed upon those of the Operative's who glared silently from the floor at him. They remained transfixed, locked in a mutual glare for moments, but then the spell was broken when the Rogue marched forward intently, his feet covering the distance between them quickly in great strides. He bent and scooped up the Operative with one hand, enclosing his fist around her neck, and walked with her towards the far wall of the office. Her feet trailed impotently just above the floor, her toes trailing along the carpet, and her hands locked around the wrist holding her.

He reached the wall and slammed her against it, holding her entire body weight with his immense, adrenaline fuelled strength, and drew his pistol from where it lay strapped to his side. He shoved it against her head, forcing her cheek against the wall as he pressed the barrel of the weapon to her temple. The Operative's breath snorted quickly through her nose as she fought the fatigue of her attempted escape, the pain of her knee and the prospect of her fate. Her eyes rolled in their sockets as she fought to maintain eye contact with the Rogue, whose own gaze burned through her as his rage fought to be unleashed, his finger trembling on the trigger as his teeth clenched tightly against each other.

No words were spoken between them, but something seemed to be communicated. They remained locked in their mortal embrace for time that passed, immeasurable, when the Operative's eyes narrowed in disgust. The Rogue's face erupted in a grimace of rage, and he pushed the pistol harder against her temple. The moment of emotion lasted for a full second before the Rogue pulled the trigger.

The round blasted through the silence of the room, shattering any semblance of calm that might have coalesced since their capture. Inara jumped with the sudden noise, and her hands fought to cover her mouth with shock and outrage, but the trooper behind her forced them to remain clasped over her head. Zoe merely blinked as the shot was fired, and in the horrible moments after it rang out Mal found that he had to look away from the scene, his stomach turning with fear and disgust.

The Operative's body slid lifelessly to the ground as the Rogue released his grip, his pistol coated with blood and gore. His gaze remained focussed on where the Operative's eyes had been, burning with the same intensity as if she was still there. He remained there, unblinking, for almost a minute before he shook himself from his trance and looked away.

The gathered troops stared apprehensively at the blood soaked weapon, and after a moment of incomprehension he looked about him, bringing himself back to the present. His eyes locked with Mal's.

"What did she want with you?" he asked quietly, the emotion in his voice a terrifying mixture of a cold burning rage and a strange, disconnected quality. Mal swallowed his fear, refusing to be unnerved by this monster.

"Should'a asked her that," he growled with a flippant manner he did not feel.

With no obvious change in emotion, the Rogue turned on his heel and marched towards the prisoners. He grabbed Inara by the arm and dragged her towards him, the pistol seeking her forehead. In an instant Mal could see – he _knew_ – that given a split second longer, the Rogue would blast another round into Inara's head, snuffing out her life with as much regard as a human would give to killing an insect. No, more horrifying than that - the Operative gave no regard _whatsoever_ to dealing death to Inara. There was no flash of irritation or anger that might ordinarily accompany the act, he was just going to do it, and it would be nothing for him to.

"_No!"_ cried Mal, terrified desperation leaking into his voice. He had acted just in time. The Rogue's pistol lay against Inara's forehead, and the Companion was gasping with outrage and fear, but he did not fire.

"Continue," he said dangerously, not moving an inch.

"I don't know," said Mal, his tone now openly filled with helpless fear. "Do you think she'd tell us? She just wanted us to get off the planet."

The Rogue's eyes narrowed marginally. Then his finger tightened on the trigger.

"I'm telling the truth!" begged Mal, as if the pistol was pressed to his own forehead. Watching Inara being threatened in such a way had made the fight simply drain out of him; any threat to her wellbeing, to him, was unendurable. To lose her now, after everything they had been through…

The inimitable note of utter despair was not lost on the Rogue. He released Inara, strode to the Captain, and aimed the gun between his eyes. A drop of the Operative's blood pooled beneath the muzzle and fell to the floor below.

"Where is my son?" he asked in a low voice. Mal shook his head.

"Don't know that either," he replied, the fear that had gripped him just seconds ago aching away. He was left feeling shaken and drained. "We got separated from the others."

The Rogue looked to the troops accompanying him for the first time since entering the room. "Check the spaceports," he said. "And comb the surrounding area. They can't have gone far."

As the troops scurried away to perform their assigned tasks, Mal had regained enough of his bravery to scowl up at the Rogue.

"And what 'bout us?" he asked, his lip curling into a sneer. The Rogue looked down at him with uncaring eyes.

"I'd like to discover what her plan is for you, but honestly? I'm not sure I care enough. She's dead. That's good enough for me."

"So you have no further use for us," said Inara, her voice still shaking from her near-execution. He turned to regard her with pitiless eyes.

"No," he said, raising his pistol once more and aiming it at the Companion. "None."

"Me!" roared Zoe suddenly, trying to leap forward at the Rogue. The men restraining her barely managed to keep their grip on her shoulders and forearms as she thrashed wildly against them, unleashing a hidden store of rage. "If you're going to do this, do it to me first!"

The Rogue almost looked surprised, turning to regard the first mate with his empty gaze. Almost complacently he shrugged and turned the weapon on her as Inara started to wail with impotent fury, fighting as Zoe had just done against her captors.

As the Rogue turned on Zoe, Mal saw something impossible, and in the commotion created by the two women he was the only one in the room to have spotted it. But it was not going to save them in enough time to stop their deaths. In a desperate moment he opened his mouth and bellowed the first thing that entered his mind, trying to delay the inevitable for just a few more seconds.

"She!" he barked. "She! Said! You!"

The Rogue turned again to face Mal, impatience starting to leak into his stoic expression. "What?" he asked evenly, and Mal knew if he did not say exactly the right thing instantly, then he would kill them all.

"She said something before you came in here," he said, jerking his chin towards the lifeless corpse of the Operative. "You might wanna know what it is."

"Tell me," said the Rogue intently, focussing entirely on Mal. The Captain shifted from side to side on his knees, looking down at the ground.

"Uhm, she said…" he muttered, the rest of his sentence trailing away into nonsensical mumbling. The Rogue took a step closer to him, trying to hear what the Captain was saying.

"What?" he repeated, and this time Mal did look up.

"Duck," he said. The Rogue stared uncomprehendingly at his prisoner for two full seconds, and as his brow started to furrow with frustration, Mal looked to the side at his two crewmates.

"Seriously," he repeated with emphasis to the women with him. "_Duck._"

The Rogue whirled to face the long window set into the far wall, and the situation dawned upon him instantly. The enormous shape of a Firefly-class vessel loomed large in the transparent viewpoint, growing closer by the second. He howled with fury as Mal threw himself to the side, dragging the guards holding him down with him, and a startled moment later his female companions followed suit, folding themselves into balls as the ship impacted the side of the building.

The bottom of the vessel smashed apart the wall, bricks shattering into dust and glass turning into powder with the force of the impact. No one in the room was left standing as the engines fired in reverse, bringing the ship to a halt moments before the bottom of the Firefly smashed through the entire room, killing everyone in it.

The cargo ramp fired up, starting to descend, as Mal forced himself onto his feet despite inhaling a lungful of dust, making his battered body respond to his needs. He threw off the dazed guards draped over him and scanned intently for the fallen forms of Inara and Zoe among the rubble. The wind wailed through the gap between the ship and the remnants of the shattered wall, exposing them fully to the altitude of the building.

Mal grabbed at an exposed arm, dragging Zoe to her feet as the cargo ramp was half deployed, and as the Alliance troops started to stagger to their feet.

"Reynolds!" roared a terrible voice, and Mal knew that their nemesis had survived the impact. With a renewed sense of urgency he pawed through the debris, coughing and choking on the clouds of dust as Jayne bounded from the extended ramp, his beloved Vera held before him, sweeping the room. From the corner of the demolished office the Rogue staggered to his feet as Mal finally saw Inara and he desperately clawed at the piles of rubble trapping her.

Jayne rounded on the Rogue, whose pistol had been swept from his grasp in the crash. "Not so smart now, huh?" he sneered. "What are you without a gun, huh? What've you got?"

The Rogue, his body bruised and uneasy on his feet, reached behind him and produced a small device. "I've got this," he said with slurred words.

Jayne's expression fell. The bomb in his chest. He had almost forgotten. But now the Rogue held the trigger in the palm of his hand, and so it was he held Jayne's life. The fallen Alliance agent indicated Jayne should turn around, and the mercenary reluctantly turned to face the others; Mal and Zoe, who had just succeeded in extracting Inara from the rubble, and Andrews, who stood on the cargo ramp covering the room with a pistol of his own.

"Drop it," said the Operative dangerously. Spotting that Jayne now aimed his rifle at him, Andrews sighed with frustration and tossed his pistol away into the room. Mal and the others took uncertain steps toward the cargo ramp before they were urged to stop by the Rogue's words. "Jayne, if anyone moves, kill them."

Mal glared at the Rogue. "What now?" he hissed. "Haven't you done enough to us? Hasn't this been enough? You killed your better half, why do you need to do this to us?"

The Rogue retrieved Andrews' discarded pistol and aimed it at Mal. "I don't need to," was all he said.

He fired, catching Mal in the stomach. The round hit the Captain with an explosive velocity, and he plummeted to the ground, his legs unable to support the force of the blow. The Rogue moved towards his fallen target as Inara and Zoe scrambled to assist him and Andrews looked on in mute horror. He grinned evilly, his former persona returning in all of its twisted glory.

"It's going to take days for you to die," he growled pleasurably.

He stopped in his tracks as another voice echoed through the chamber.

"Dad?" said a pitiful voice. The Rogue looked up slowly at the cargo ramp, where his son stood, obviously terrified, with a knife held to his throat. Simon Tam spoke evenly and clearly, with no trace of fear or hesitation in his voice.

"Drop the gun, the transmitter, and move away from them."

In the silence that followed all that was audible was Mal's ragged breath as he fought against the pain of the bullet wound. Inara spoke hushed, reassuring words into his ear, but her eyes were locked with Zoe's as they stared at each other in unvoiced fear. The Rogue measured Simon's voice and the resolution behind them, trying to determine if he could kill the doctor before he could slice the throat of his estranged son.

"You won't," he said finally. Simon cocked his head to the side with absolutely no outward sign of unease.

"Won't I?" he replied.

The Rogue's eyes narrowed, and finally he dropped the pistol. Simon nodded towards the far wall.

"Back away," he instructed. The Rogue started to take slow, even paces backwards, his eyes never leaving Simon's.

"You've killed before," he said. Simon nodded.

"Yes. One of your kind, incidentally. She was ever so disappointed not to be able to complete her Trials."

The Rogue nodded with comprehension, the transmitter still held in his other hand. "So you did it back on the moon you crashed on. Did you use a pistol? Or a blade?" Simon's jaw tensed, and the Rogue smirked. "A blade, then. They use the expression 'blood on your hands' to refer to an action that might result in someone's death, but it's something else to physically _have_ blood on your hands, isn't it?"

"Keep walking," growled Simon, his nerves-of-steel façade starting to slip away. The Rogue nodded to himself.

"I can say that having killed with a blade," he said almost confidentially in a soothing voice. "But have you ever killed an innocent? Outside a life or death situation? I can tell you that it's somewhat different, and you can consider me an expert in this area. I've killed innocent people. I've felt their blood on my hands. And I feel I should warn you, I had extensive training to prepare me for the experience. Someone who hasn't had the benefit of that might…_react_ differently than I did. To the knowledge that they caused someone who hasn't done them any harm, and who means them no ill will, to die. Not just cause, but to do it yourself. To sink the cold steel of the blade into their flesh, and feel as their life force drains from them. To hold them as they fade away, gasping their last…"

"_Stop it!"_ snapped Simon, and the Operative's trademark sneer returned in an instant.

"I didn't think so," he commented of Simon. "Jayne, kill him."

He stood watching Simon smugly as the rattled doctor stepped away from the captive Roderick and winced, expecting the end, but nothing happened. The Rogue, puzzled, looked over at Jayne.

The mercenary was standing, Vera aimed at the floor, staring dumbly at Mal. In one moment, Jayne had seen, for the first and awful time, exactly where they were as a group, and the bitter, meaningless end that faced them all as a result of whatever pithy scheme the Alliance had concocted for them. Until now he had been able to fool himself into thinking that, somehow, whatever was going on didn't matter, or that it could be easily shrugged off. But in a single moment, reality came crashing home as he watched Mal groan in pain in the dirt, bleeding his life into the rubble.

His eyes found the Rogue, and in a similar moment of clarity, he saw that this man – if he wasn't entirely responsible – had played a pivotal role in creating the utter shambles their lives had fallen into. He raised Vera and pointed her towards his tormentor.

"Just leave us be," he growled threateningly. He couldn't remember feeling this way before, as long as he had lived. "Leave us, or I'm gonna end you."

The Rogue glared with fury at his misbehaving cohort. He waved the trigger threateningly. "If you don't fall back into line," he said with fire in his voice, "I'm going to blow you up."

"Leave us," repeated Jayne, hefting his weapon higher, not caring of any possible consequence to his actions.

"_Back in line!"_ roared the Operative with great anger, his thumb closing over the trigger mechanism. Jayne glared back at him without fear.

"Boy, you'd better press that button right now," he whispered with such intensity that even the Rogue was taken aback. "You'd better press it while you still have the chance."

The Rogue stared at Jayne with such hatred that it might have rendered a lesser individual inert, and then pressed the button.

Jayne winced, but did not close his eyes. He kept on staring at the Rogue, and after several seconds, nothing had happened.

The Rogue chuckled almost jovially. "Out of everyone, Jayne," he commented, "I never thought you'd be the one to call my bluff." He held out his hands, caught in the act. "All right, you've got me. There was never any bomb, just a transmitter. It's just a good job you were stupid enough to go along with it though, wasn't it?" he finished with a trace of disdain in his voice.

Jayne took in the superior attitude of the Rogue smirking at him, and the form of Mal lying on the ground, and the distraught expressions of those he called crewmates. He considered everything that had happened to them over the past week and more, and compared it all to the smug, self-satisfied expression on the Rogue's face.

He turned on the spot, hoisted Vera onto his shoulder, and fired once into the Firefly. For a moment the Rogue didn't know what had happened, and he glanced about, confused. But then his face twisted with horror as it came to him.

Roderick coughed once and trembled as the wound in his chest started to bubble with blood and escaping oxygen, and he fell to his knees, his strength leaving his body. As the Rogue wailed with pain and rage, Jayne marched towards the ship, waving Zoe and Inara onwards. As they picked up Mal and moved towards the deployed cargo ramp, Jayne mounted it and savagely kicked at Roderick, sending the boy tumbling from the vessel and onto the rubble below.

The Rogue rushed forward, scooping his son into his arms, his face a picture of loss. Myers panted for air, feebly clutching at his father's arms, his life slipping away.

"Dad," he gasped, his voice fading. "It…it hurts," he said in a voice that tore at the heart. The Rogue started to sob, the pride of his life, his flesh and blood, his only child dying broken in his arms.

"It's okay, Roddy," he wept, stroking the boy's hair. "It's okay."

"I'm sorry," he said in a ragged voice. "I...I let you down..."

"No, Roddy," said the Rogue, hopeless despair seeping from his every pore. "I let you down, it was me. I'm the one who's sorry."

"I'm...scared..." said the innocent man who had no part in the events unfolding around him - whose only crime had been being the son of the man who had become the Rogue. "I...can't..."

Roderick drew two more shaken breaths into his body, and then he died, staring into his father's eyes. The Rogue roared with grief and loss and rage, and he stood to enact his revenge upon those responsible for his pain, but Jayne was already waiting for him. The mercenary seized the Rogue by the neck seal of his armour and dragged the man close to his own face.

"_You did this,"_ he hissed with all of the hatred and pain of his own, and he drove his head forward into the bridge of the Rogue's nose. The fallen Alliance agent's eyes rolled in his head as he fought to remain conscious, but Jayne released his grip, allowing him to fall to the floor. He savagely beat the man into unconsciousness, the Rogue's blood escaping his skin and staining Jayne's fists red. The mercenary grunted with exertion, starting to sob with each blow he delivered, until finally his rage fell away and he staggered away from the man's body and onto the cargo ramp of the waiting vessel.

Slowly he became aware of the presence of the remaining Alliance soldiers who had gathered at the far side of the room, watching the events unfold before them almost with awe. Jayne glared at them, tears stinging his eyes.

"Ignore the order," he grunted, referring to the Executive Order that had brought the full weight of the Alliance military down on them. His voice broke, and he felt the fight drain from him. "The two who gave them are out of the picture now. Just let us go."

This shook the men from their trance enough to look at each other, allowing them to assess each others' moods regarding where they stood. Then they stepped forward, their hands falling to their weapons. Jayne set his jaw resolutely. They weren't done fighting yet after all.

But as the troops approached them, the cortex flickered to life in the shattered remains of the room. And everywhere else in the city. Every single screen connected to a device capable of tapping into the main cortex buzzed with static, and though no one conscious on board the Firefly recognised the voice that grated across the airwaves, both Mal and the Operative, had they been present and capable of listening to it, would have.

A voice rendered totally unrecognisable by technology buzzed from every speaker in a fifty mile radius.

"_Disregard both conflicting Executive Orders issued prior to this statement,"_ it rasped. _"Allow the unnamed Firefly class vessel and its crew to leave unharmed. Authorisation verification accompanies this transmission."_

The message repeated, but nothing new was said. The troops checked their portable cortex units and, satisfied the order came from a credible source, hung back away from the Firefly.

Confused, but not wanting to question their stroke of good fortune, Jayne withdrew into the vessel with the others. Andrews sat on a crate regarding him, and the mercenary could hear commotion in the infirmary as Simon rushed to treat Mal's gunshot wound. Zoe was marching up the stairs towards the bridge and Inara was rushing to assist Simon. Within moments the engines were rumbling to life, and Jayne activated the controls next to the cargo ramp that would close it. Then he fell sideways and slouched against the wall, allowing his physical and emotional exhaustion to overcome him.

After a moment Andrews broke the silence. "Why the kid?" he asked quietly. "Why didn't you kill the guy who did all this to us instead?"

Jayne stared at the deck as he felt the planet fall way from beneath him, and knew that he would never be the same again.

"I wanted him to hurt," he replied.

A/N:

_That got a more intense than I originally planned, but I decided to go with it. Thanks for reading and reviewing.  
_


	26. Interlude

**Interlude**

There were tears standing in Kaylee's eyes as Mal and Simon finished the next portion of their tale. She had never imagined that a series of events and circumstances could lead to the fracture of the group she considered family that had just been described to her. She wanted to gather everyone around her, to tell them that everything would be okay, but of course the events being told to her had happened weeks ago. She cursed again the thing inside her, forcing her to miss the important parts of those she loved's lives.

Though Mal and Simon must have somehow reconciled to be in the same room as each other, they each looked broken conveying what had happened to the engineer. The absolute bitter end their paths had taken them to was almost too much for Kaylee to bear. She needed to take their hurt away, but it was impossible for her to do so. She could just sit in her bed and listen.

"I'm sorry," she said in a wavering voice, and Mal turned to face her from where he stood gazing absently from the view port, a concerned look on his face.

"Oh now hey," he said, moving towards the bed. "None of that, little Kaylee. You got nothin' to be sorry for. Nothin' at all."

"But if I'd been there…" she said, the guilt starting to pile up on her. Simon took her hand in his.

"If you'd been there, you'd be dead," he said gently. Kaylee sighed, recognising that she was being irrational.

"I just…" she started, but Mal shook his head.

"I know," he said. "But there's nothin' you can do. The Alliance took you away from us all that time, and that's nobody's fault but theirs. You don't even waste another moment thinkin' otherwise. That's an order, y'hear?"

Kaylee nodded and even smiled at Mal's manner. "Sorry," she said again.

"Are you in any pain?" asked Simon, ever the doctor. Kaylee shook her head.

"No. But sometimes I can…" She grimaced. "Sometimes I can feel it moving."

Simon looked concerned. "Maybe we should…"

Kaylee held him in place with her hand as he tried to move away. "No," she said. "I think I'll know when it's time. I don't know how, but…"

Mal nodded. "There's not much more left to tell anyhow. We'll have you better in no time."

"Not much left to tell?" asked Kaylee.

"Yup. Next three days went pretty quiet, considerin'. Simon patched up the hole in my side. And everyone sorta slunk off to different corners."

"I bet that Operative still had tricks up her sleeve, even though she was dead," stated Kaylee, and Mal vaguely smiled.

"Well, yeah. Kinda. Well, it'd be better to tell you it like it happened. You ready for more?"

Kaylee nodded vigorously.

Simon was thinking. "Not much _did_ happen for those next three days," he said, half to himself. "Maybe we should just skip them…"

"How'd you have a quiet patch after all that happened?" asked Kaylee, confused. Mal shrugged.

"Cause everything came to a head on Londinium. See, everything that happened was because the Rogue and the Operative were tryin' to kill each other. When it started it was all about Project Nightmare, but then he got exiled and their fight started. When the Operative started to manipulate everyone, it was to get us to do what we had to do to make Project Nightmare work. The whole diversion to Londinium was so I went to find the Rogue's son, and so draw him out so the Operative could kill him."

"But her plan failed, in that he killed her," said Simon. "So instead of before, when we had a direct link to Project Nightmare in the form of the Operative, once she died, there was nothing to fill the void. Only a robotic voice telling the Alliance Navy to leave us alone."

"And they did," said Mal. "Everyone just left us well alone, and we didn't have any clues to go on. The Operative did such a good job at keeping us in the dark that, once she was gone, we had no clue 'bout where she wanted us to go next. And also, none of us were bein' real communicative, considering what had just happened. So we just drifted for three days."

"What happened after three days?" frowned Kaylee. Mal and Simon exchanged a glance.

"After three days, we found out that the Operative had left us one last clue after all," said Simon. "And then everything exploded."

"You mean an argument?" asked Kaylee, here eyes wide.

"No, he means things actually…" Mal trailed off. "You know what? We'll get to that in a minute." He looked at Simon. "Stop skipping ahead."

"Okay," said Kaylee. "Just tell me you found out what Project Nightmare is soon after that, 'cause the suspense is killing me."

"Oh, we found out," said Mal, privately relishing his role as story bearer of the events of the past month. "But you just have to wait a little while longer."

"So?" asked Simon. "Where should we continue from?"

"Well, we should mention Major Graham," said Mal, and Kaylee recalled the description of the stony faced New Independent officer.

"Oh yeah," she said. "He followed you to Londinium, right? And helped you escape?"

Simon nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. He really saved our skins. And after we escaped the planet, his ship travelled with us in case the Alliance decided to change its policy regarding us."

"He left for Home Base after the second day," said Mal. "By then it was obvious nothin' was gonna happen. But he really came through for us. I'd be dead if it wasn't for him."

Kaylee looked, puzzled, at the Captain. "Not like you, Cap'n," she said. "Normally takes you a while to warm to strangers," she teased.

Mal shrugged. "When someone saves your life a few times, it tends to increase your opinion of that person."

"So c'mon," said Kaylee, eager to hear the rest of the tale. "Get on with it!"

"Okay," said Mal. "Well like we said, nothing much happened for three days. But then I found something that I was looking for, some old friends came back to us, and we all got to see the true face of someone close to us…"

_A/N:_

_Next chapter will be up soon, thanks for the reviews and the favourite story adds and the like!_


	27. Day Twelve: Restorative Equilibrium

Day Twelve

**Day Twelve**

**Restorative Equilibrium**

Keeping his house in order. That's all it'd ever been about for Malcolm Reynolds. But how could his house possibly be in order if it had been gutted by an alien organism and then sunk to the bottom of an unnamed ocean on an unnamed moon? Well…it probably had a name, but Mal hadn't had the inclination to discover what it was. Nor did he have it as it occurred to him he might look. Because Serenity was dead, and that's just all there was to it.

But here he was, living in a ship that was almost Serenity, but not quite. For one thing, she had a self-destruct mechanism rigged to her core in case the New Independents, who had been kind enough to grant Mal the use of the vessel, felt he was misbehaving. As he wandered through the cargo bay, holding his side delicately, his eyes turned towards the deck, it struck him that even despite the minor differences, he might allow himself to relapse into the past, and just for a few moments pretend that this ship _was_ Serenity, and act as if the past two weeks had never happened.

Hell, if he was going to do that, he might roll back the clock all the way to before the Miranda incident. Or until before he had ever heard the name Tam. Or until before the war. If he thought like that, maybe he'd wind up thinking it'd be better if he'd never lived at all. And that was not going to happen, so he wasn't going to let himself pretend.

He stepped around a crate, his eyes still scanning the deck intently, looking for something but not sure what it was exactly. In a way he was glad he had spent the last three days pent up in the infirmary, because it gave him a chance to collect his thoughts about what he was going to do with his crew. Each of them, with the exception of Inara and Andrews, had been working against him to some degree – collaborating with the female Operative to bring about the shadowy conclusion to the sinister Project Nightmare, the Alliance scheme that had ruined their lives, yet Mal had not managed to pick up a single clue about what its end game was exactly. Any chance of interrogating the Operative had died…well, when she had, and the Rogue – the man cut loose by the Operative, the man who used to be in the employ of Project Nightmare and the Alliance, who had returned to wreak his vengeance upon his former employers – did not appear to know much about it either.

At least, what the goal of the Project was. He seemed quite knowledgeable about its methods when he had trapped half of Mal's crew in grimy cells and unleashed alien organisms upon them. As a result of which one of whom, Kaylee, now lay frozen in suspended animation in order to halt the growth of the creature now residing within her. Because when it came to term, it would erupt from her rib cage, killing her in a horrific and violent manner, and while Mal would not wish that fate upon many people, Kaylee would be the person on the top of his list to save from such an end. But, typically, they had discovered no clues regarding how to save her, either.

Instead they had drifted in space aimlessly, now fully aware that the Alliance would not touch them. The robotic voice Mal had encountered when they were first on the trail of what was happening to them had ordered the entire system's military to give them a wide berth, and since that moment they had waited, anxiously, to see what would happen next. But despite the fact that their nemesis, the Rogue, who would no doubt have issue with them after Jayne killed his only child in cold blood, and the fact that he and his crew were subject to a vast, malevolent government conspiracy, the thing that worried him the most was interacting with his crew.

They had all been snapping at each other ever since they left orbit of Mithras, not only out of apprehension but because none of them wanted to address what had happened between them in the days preceding their final escape from the capital world of the Alliance. And as a result, Mal had chosen to recover quietly in the infirmary, where the only real interaction he had to suffer were the routine questions Simon asked of him regarding his health. None of the other crewmembers had sought him out, even Inara, who (as far as he was aware) had anything to avoid him for.

He reminded himself that they had all had an intense time leading up to their escape. Each had stared death straight in the face at least once, and Inara and Zoe, along with him, had watched the Rogue cold bloodedly execute the Operative. While Zoe might not have had much of an issue with this event, and not that the Companion much cared for the Operative, watching something like that was sure to change a person. More than anything he wanted to seek out the usually regal Inara and try to help her through what was happening, but that would ultimately lead to facing the others, and he wasn't ready for that. So he carried on pacing through the cargo bay, looking for his misplaced item.

A dull clanging and a distant roar distracted Mal from his thoughts. In reality the source of the disturbance was not so far away, but a layer of fortified steel separated him from its origin, making it sound further away. Oaty, the apparently sentient alien they had brought aboard a week previously, had been increasingly violent since the escape, probably because he had been locked in the malfunctioning shuttle with nothing but candy bars to eat. But what was Mal supposed to do? Let him out for walks? He appeared to be a savage animal, and only the presence of certain technology gave Mal any impression that the creature they had named after a savoury snack had any intelligence whatsoever. And Simon swore that the organism's race was highly developed, so who was he to argue? But once more, discussing Oaty would mean conversing with Simon and the others, and so the creature was left to bellow and hammer at the shuttle hatch sporadically.

Cullen had withdrawn into himself, which was potentially worrying. As far as they could determine, Cullen was a victim of the same institution that had made River the way she was today, and they had discovered him on the troop transport they had sequestered from the Alliance escaping from the moon Serenity was buried on, naked as the day he was born and catatonic. After several days he suddenly woke up and appeared to be a normal young man, and now, naturally, having found himself on a ship full of strangers and in hostile environments, he had locked himself away in his passenger dorm with the memory module the Rogue had given to Mal, who hoped the youngster would not go crazy like River occasionally did.

Simon's sister still lay in her degenerative coma, and Simon had not slept much since they fled Mithras, trying to determine what might cure her of the condition forced upon her by the Operative, who had used River's coma to blackmail Simon into assisting her. Jayne had been offered a vast sum of money and a full pardon, and Zoe had been…

Well, Wash was alive. And if for no other reason, Mal was hiding in the infirmary because of that alone. Wash was _alive_. _Wash._ Mal had watched him die alongside Zoe, yet she had travelled to the point of total betrayal of everything she had here just in case he was somehow alive. And, even more surprising to Mal was that the Serenity's former pilot was now here, flesh and blood, alive and well.

He shook his head and stooped to look under a cargo crate. Underneath it, something small and metallic glinted in the darkness. Mal leaned forward and retrieved it, testing the weight in his hand, and realised it was the thing he had been looking for. With satisfaction he placed it in his pocket and stood back up to see Simon gazing absently down on him from the catwalk above.

"Mal," he said. His face was gaunt, and deep shadows were set beneath his eyes. "You shouldn't be up and about."

Mal was almost glad Simon hadn't had much sleep. If he had been alert, he would have had enough sense to realise Mal felt awkwardly about what happened between them all and they would have experienced deeply embarrassing moments where both recognised that they _should_ talk about the incidents, but neither would bring it up and felt guilty about it. Now, he simply ambled, zombie-like, in and out of the infirmary and fired off basic questions that were embedded deep in his subconscious after years of medical training.

"I know," replied the Captain. "But I had to get out here and look for something."

"Oh," replied Simon absently. "How does it feel?" he asked for the thousandth time since Mal had woken up.

Mal felt his side in the spot where the Rogue had shot him. His kidney had been clipped by the bullet, but the miracle-working doctor had patched him up without any complications. He was still tender, but he was healing nicely. He told Simon as much. "Good. Should be all better in a couple days. Wonders of modern medicine and all that."

Simon snorted. "If I was in a fully equipped Core world hospital you'd be healed by now. But I did my best with what I had available."

"How's the cure for River comin' along?" asked Mal. Simon shook his head, worry seeping through into his expression. "You'll get it," assured Mal. "Just keep at it."

"I will," replied Simon, and began to move away. He stopped as Mal called to him.

"Oh, and Doc? Get some sleep."

"I will," repeated Simon, and he walked out of the cargo bay, leaving Mal to carry on looking around for whatever it was he had lost. He felt like he was walking through smoke. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept properly even before he had been consumed by his need to cure River – because he could recognise he had been consumed. And if he wasn't researching a cure for River's condition, he was poring over the data he had gathered on the thing gestating inside of Kaylee, trying to determine some way to get it out without harming her. Even though now he had the opportunity to retire to his bunk, he would not sleep with all of his worries. So he stayed busy, and hoped that he stayed sharp enough to be able to continue to work effectively. If his exhaustion got to the point where he started to make mistakes, then it might mean both River and Kaylee would…

He shook his head, banishing the thought. He simply wouldn't allow that to happen – to either of them. He walked back inside the infirmary to find Jayne sitting on one of the examination tables waiting for him.

"Hi," said Simon, stepping through the threshold. "Can I help you?"

Jayne pointed to his chest and winced. "Yeah. I got a pain. In my ribs. And my gut."

Simon nodded and retrieved his basic diagnostic tools for a general check-up; a thermometer and a stethoscope. "Take off your shirt," he told Jayne, who responded to the instruction. He gave a quick check of the man's ribs, asking if it hurt whenever he touched them, and Jayne responded that he could feel none. Then he put the thermometer into Jayne's mouth and placed the stethoscope over his ears, placing the contact onto Jayne's chest.

"Take regular, deep breaths in and out," he instructed, and Jayne complied. "How long have you been feeling like this?"

Jayne shrugged. "A couple of days I guess," he said, mumbling through the thermometer perched at the side of his mouth. "It won't go away so I figured I'd come and get it checked."

"Good idea," approved Simon. Then he frowned and replaced the contact back to where he had just moved it. "Take another breath."

Jayne did so, worry seeping into his face. "What is it?"

Simon nodded and stepped away from the mercenary, plucking the thermometer from his lips. He checked it's reading and nodded again. "Hmm. As I thought," he said.

"What?" repeated Jayne as Simon replaced his tools on the workbench.

"You're perfectly healthy," said the doctor. "There's nothing physically wrong with you."

Jayne looked perplexed. "How can you tell so quickly?"

"Your breathing is normal. You don't respond to the pain in your ribs. Your temperature is normal. There's no visible bruising."

Jayne grimaced. "But I got this pain, Doc," he said almost pleadingly. "Can't you do anything?"

Simon shook his head and sat on the stool next to the bed delicately. "I said there wasn't anything _physically_ wrong with you," he said. "I think maybe what you're feeling is…well, you said that you hurt. What are you thinking about when the pain is your ribs is at its worst?"

Jayne scowled at the doctor. "I don't want counselling," he growled. "I just want something for the pain."

Simon stared at the glowering mercenary, and thought that he could determine very well what was making Jayne feel the way he did. He had killed the Rogue's son in cold blood, taking an innocent life for the purely selfish reason of making the man who had threatened them suffer. While Simon could not argue that the Rogue had not deserved what had happened to him, and found that he could not condemn what Jayne had done, even deep in his heart of hearts, maybe now Jayne was paying the price for his action. Though the man was a seasoned killer, and he had taken many lives before Roderick Myers', this was perhaps the first time he had killed for something more than money – and killed someone who truly did not deserve his fate.

But he could also see that Jayne was not prepared to deal with the emotional fallout of what was happening to him. The doctor nodded and stood from the stool, moving towards the drugs cabinet.

"Alright," he conceded, removing a bottle of pills from the cupboard. "Take two of these twice a day and come back to me if the pain gets any worse."

Jayne snatched the bottle from Simon's hands and stormed from the room as the emotional demons he fled from snapped at his heels. Simon sighed and stared at the doorway after Jayne had made his dramatic exit. The bottle of anti-depressants would aid Jayne on his journey, but it was a short-term solution to his very long-term problem. Being the kind of person that he was, Simon could see that now he had another problem to solve in addition to curing River and Kaylee – he had to ease Jayne through his emotional and moral dilemma.

He sighed and sat back down at his terminal, fighting fatigue, and called up River's brainwave scans.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Zoe had not had the best few weeks. Her husband had died, and that loss had almost torn her apart, and magnified her already intense dislike of the Alliance into hatred. Then, what started with a simple transport job had ended with the discovery that her old outfit, the Independents, had been reborn in a form she did not much like, more akin to a terrorist organisation than the army she had joined all those years ago. After that they had found themselves the subjects of a government conspiracy similar to the one her husband had fallen victim to, and her ship had been destroyed. They had spent the last week running from the Alliance, and she had been forced to betray her crew on the vague and unlikely promise that her husband was, in fact, alive.

But they had emerged through the end of their world, and Zoe found that her husband was with her again. Wash was here. Sat right next to her, in fact. He was eating to bowl of soup she had made for him, and she simply sat and watched him eat, content for the first time she could remember in a long while. While the Alliance still had designs for them, and Kaylee and River were still sick, she had faith that those problems would resolve themselves in the face of the miracle she had witnessed. Wash looked up from devouring the food and realised she was staring at him.

"What?" he asked, his brow furrowing. "Do I have…?" His hand reached to the corner of his mouth to brush away an imagined crumb, but Zoe caught it in her own grasp before he made contact.

"You have something," she smirked. "But it ain't on your mouth."

He smiled then, relaxing. In the days they had spent floating in space, Zoe had effectively taken control of the ship, meaning that there were times when Wash had been left alone in their bunk. But despite the availability of his time, none of the other crewmembers had visited him, and Zoe could understand why. His return was totally unwarranted, and to treat the arrival of someone they had all said goodbye to merely weeks before completely normally would be unnatural. But Zoe didn't care about them. Wash was back.

But sometimes it seemed as though he was not entirely there. She tried to talk to him about specific times and events, and he could not recall them. He would simply frown, look away, and change the subject. But she reminded herself that he had been through a deeply traumatic few weeks himself. Maybe memory loss would be a natural consequence of that. She felt concern swell within her, and so she voiced it.

"Are you feeling all right?" she asked. Wash smirked.

"Yeah. I have been the past hundred times you asked that, you know."

"But that video I saw of you…you were being tortured."

He shrugged. "I can't remember that. Like I said, last thing I do remember is being in the pilot seat of the Serenity. Then I woke up in the back of that van when you rescued me." He frowned. "Shame about the ship. She was a good ride."

"It doesn't matter," smiled Zoe. "As long as we have each other."

He caressed her cheek, but then realised his hand still had some soup on it and he withdrew his touch. "Sorry," he apologised.

"Doesn't matter. I'm used to you by now."

He frowned again. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded. Zoe snorted.

"Like you don't know." Wash shrugged, his face a model of perplexity. "You've always been the messy one."

Wash hooted loudly with derision. "Always been the messy one?" he repeated mockingly. "I'll have you know I'm the one who's has suffered through abusive years at the hands of your inner slob."

Zoe's face twisted with outrage. "How can you even say that? What about when those rats moved into the compactor? They lived there for weeks off the food that you tried to hide…"

But the amiability had faded from Wash's face. He looked down at his soup and started to swirl it around with his spoon. Zoe trailed away.

"So, uh…" said Wash in a quiet voice, trying to inject some of the good nature of the previous conversation into his words but failing. "This is really good," he said of the soup.

Zoe reached forward and held his hands. "Why don't you go to see the doctor?" she implored, but Wash sighed with disgust and snatched his hands away.

"This again? I've already told you a thousand times, I'm fine. I don't need the doctor to needle and poke me over and over again. I'm fine."

"But it's Simon," said Zoe, not being able to recall a previous fear or dislike of doctors in her husband. "You know he'll treat you well."

Wash didn't say anything, stubbornly folding his arms and refusing to look at her. She tried a different tactic.

"Can you do it for me?" she asked. "You say you're fine, but I worry about you, baby. We don't know what happened to you – not even you do. I just want to make sure that you're okay."

He tried to remain stubborn but after several moments of silence he relented. "Okay," he said, nodding. "I'll go see Simon."

Zoe smiled reassuringly. "It'll all be okay," she said. "You'll see. Just a few more days and we'll be clear of all this." She rubbed his shoulder soothingly. "And then maybe we can take that getaway we always talked about."

But from the look on hid face, it was obvious that Wash did not remember talking about that getaway, or any other.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Cullen stuck his head outside of his passenger dorm and scanned the corridor intently, assessing if he had company or not. Determining that all was quiet, the rest of his body emerged and he quickly and quietly padded along the short walkway to where the infirmary lay.

He was hungry, as boys his age always are. Yet he did not want to risk encountering any of the strange and vaguely threatening people he shared this ship with. He had no memory of how he had come to be with them, only that he had woken up in a strange room, wearing strange clothes, and certainly everything that had happened since had been _very_ strange indeed – aliens, government conspiracies and petty crooks had been the highlights of Cullen's adventures thus far, and things showed no sign of stopping now. Mal had been shot, Jayne had killed a man not much older than Cullen, and from what the young man could glean from the patches of conversation he was privy to, someone the group used to know had somehow returned from the dead.

He shook his head despairingly. Why couldn't he just go back to the way things used to be?

Cullen rounded the corner and almost made it to the stairs leading up to the mess hall when a familiar voice stopped him.

"Hey, kid," said Mal as he stepped down from the cargo bay. Cullen tensed visibly and turned to face the rogues' Captain.

"Yes?" he asked with his refined accent. Mal frowned at him as he approached.

"Why so formal?" he asked. He nodded towards the passenger dorm. "C'mon, I need your help with something."

Cullen cast a longing look up the stairs. But then he decided that it might be best to do what Mal said. He started back towards his room, Mal following him two paces behind. Cullen was aware that Mal was armed, his pistol holstered at his side as his hand swung nonchalantly near it.

What was so dangerous about Cullen that made everyone on this ship act nervously around him? The young man had no idea, but he was starting to lose his patience with the matter. If he received one more cautious glance, he would _give_ them something to be nervous about.

He stepped into his room and Mal followed. The Captain tossed a small, metallic object towards the boy, and Cullen caught it with his naturally quick reflexes. He gazed at it in puzzlement.

"What's this?" he asked. Mal shrugged.

"It's a memory chip," he replied, and Cullen sighed with exasperation.

"Yes I know what it is," he said. "But what _is_ it?"

"Kinda hopin' you'd be able to help me with that," said Mal. He gestured to the computer terminal that had been set up next to the bed. "Thought you could take a peek, seein' as how you're the resident computer genius and all."

Cullen nodded and removed the cables that presently fed into the memory storage unit that the strange man had given him to decode. Mal had called him an Operative, and he seemed to be close to the centre of whatever was going on around here.

"You been able to crack that thing open?" asked Mal, referring to the heavily encrypted memory unit. Cullen shook his head.

"Not much, just strings of data. I'll crack it eventually, I'm sure."

Mal snorted, but Cullen remained oblivious to the arrogance of his tone. He replaced the cables so they plugged into the much smaller device Mal had given him, and ran the program that would allow him to read the contents.

"Where did you get this?" asked the boy.

Mal cast his mind back to three days ago, and the final minutes of the Operative's life.

"You have to live," she instructed them fiercely, emotion starting to show on her face fully for the first time. "You have to find a way." She grasped Mal's hand tightly, staring at him intently. He frowned and started to glance down at his fist, but another breach charge had been set against the door. The Operative flung herself in front of him as the explosion boomed through the room, obliterating their pitiful barricade.

She had pressed a small, metallic object into Mal's hand just before the Alliance had stormed the room, and with the commotion that had been going on around him he'd had no chance to even glance at what it was. Then he, Zoe and Inara had been forced on their knees into a line by the Rogue, and then he had been shot. His last conscious thought had been desperately trying to maintain his grip on the mysterious object in his hand as his female companions hauled him onto the ship, and he could remember seeing the cargo bay ceiling before he passed out. When he had been well enough to get out of the bed in the infirmary, it had only been a short walk to the cargo bay, where he had spent his time scouring the deck, searching for something he had never seen, but knew it to be somewhere in the gargantuan chamber. So back to the question at hand – where did he get it?

"Someone gave it to me," he replied ambiguously. "I reckon there's something important on there."

"How important?" asked Cullen.

"Enough to be worth someone's life."

Cullen studied the monitor for a moment, analysed what was in front of him, and then frowned. "Oh," he said, checking the memory chip.

"Oh?"

"It's broken," said the boy. He looked up at Mal. "Maybe someone stood on it."

Mal peered closer at the small device and could see where the circuit board had been crushed in certain places. He swore inwardly and then glanced at Cullen hopefully.

"Don't suppose you can fix it?" he asked.

"I can gather some of the information," replied Cullen. "But the damaged parts are irretrievable, I'm afraid."

"Oh. Well, I guess that's good. Can you do it now?" asked Mal, and Cullen nodded, starting to strip the information from the device. "It isn't encrypted?"

Cullen shook his head. "Not this time. It should only take a moment."

Cullen sat back as the computer took over, automatically performing its required task. The two men sat in an awkward silence, neither looking at the other for a short time. Eventually Cullen glanced at Mal.

"Where are we headed?"

"Nowhere. We're just sorta drifting at the moment," replied Mal.

"Because I've been thinking…" started Cullen, and Mal just laughed and shook his head. Cullen sat up straighter in his chair, taking offence. "What are you laughing at?"

"No," said Mal.

"You don't even know what I was going to…"

"You were going to suggest you get off at the next port and make your way home to Mom and Pop. And I said no."

Cullen huffed. "But why?" he demanded.

"Two reasons. One, you'd last around five seconds on the Fringe. And two…we don't know why you found yourself to be with us. And lately, I'm becoming a fan of tying up loose ends. They have a nasty habit of turning up later and biting you in the rear."

"And I have to just accept that?"

Mal shrugged. "Guess you do."

The computer beeped, indicating it had completed the transfer. Mal pushed Cullen aside, taking the seat at the terminal, leaving the boy to sit on the bed, staring at the wall sullenly. Mal pored through the data that had been lifted from the broken memory device, his face growing slacker the more he read. Finally, after ten minutes of reading, he sat back and clucked his tongue.

"…Huh," he said. Cullen sat forward, eager to read what had piqued Mal's interest, but the Captain quickly closed the display, deleted the files and pulled the cables from the broken device.

"But…!" exclaimed Cullen with great disappointment. Mal smirked at him.

"Sorry, kid. Sensitive information. Why don't you get back to tryin' to crack the code of that bigger toy?"

He left the room and left Cullen to sulk. After a few minutes of inactivity he plugged the cables back into the other toy, as Mal had put it, and he began to work on decrypting the military algorithm placed on the data placed inside it.

Mal, though he would be disappointed to learn it, shared more in common with Cullen than he realised. They had both been given similar data storage devices under ambiguous circumstances, driving each of them towards discovering what clues lay within. The words of the man the others knew as the Rogue burned through him, motivating him towards completing the task.

"_I pre-empted this. The computer node I brought with me isn't what Mal thinks it is. On it you will find the answers to all of your questions; most importantly, what you are. Now if you'll excuse us, we must be leaving."_

_He went to walk away, but Cullen placed himself in the Operative's path. "Wait a second. You could just tell me right now the answers to all of my questions, and…"_

"The knowledge most rewarding is that which is earned," said the Operative. "I promise you, Cullen, that I am not lying to you. Unlock the computer node, and your true nature will be revealed to you."

And so he had remained for almost four days, his entire being focussed on the conundrum of not knowing his true purpose, knowing that it lay within the device, but being unable to access the information.

Cullen sighed in frustration as the hundredth crack he had tried failed. He couldn't understand it – everything he had tried had met with almost complete failure. The few times a file had been decrypted had revealed a mess of gibberish that couldn't possibly be right. His brain felt like it go into meltdown at any moment, and he thought fiercely about how to resolve this dilemma.

And slowly, miraculously, a seed of thought began to ferment and grow in his mind, and the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He was making an assumption – that the data he was trying to reveal was comprised of words. Maybe the few times he had been successful he had decoded the information properly, because the data was not _meant_ to look like anything he would recognise.

He sat forward eagerly as another revelation visited him. Maybe each file was only useful when used in conjunction with every other one – maybe the reason it hadn't been working was because he had been decoding each one individually. Maybe they _were_ working, but alone they were useless.

He called up one of the decoding matrices he had been using earlier on – one of the few that had successfully revealed the information within a file – and instead of running it on one individual file, instructed the program to run on all of them simultaneously. The data on the monitor began to slow and judder as the computer struggled to run all of the processes in harmony with one another, but a few moments later it had been completed and Cullen could see the strings of data starting to join together and coalesce into a single derivative; a single, long line of code that started to execute the moment it had reformed…

The lights in the room flickered off, and before Cullen could react to the situation the computer monitor flickered and distorted, filling with static and bursting with strobes of light that sharply illuminated the room around the youngster, who could only sit and stare at the screen as the bursts hypnotised him into inaction. His pupils contracted and dilated harshly as his retinas were flooded with light. The primitive speakers built into the computer hissed with a strange melody of grating static, and the combination of light and sound drove deep into Cullen, reactivating long-dormant programming and writing some new instructions.

Less than a minute later, the process had completed and the lights of the room flickered back on. Cullen sat dazed at the terminal, and for a moment all he could do was stare ahead into space. But then he blinked and roused himself back to full consciousness, and before he could display any reaction, another sound flooded the room, and the ship at large.

"_I want everyone in the mess hall,"_ came Mal's voice over the intercom, and then there was silence. Cullen blinked again and rubbed his eyes, wondering what had just happened. Then he rose and left the room, purpose instilled within him.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Mal sat at the head of the table, waiting for everyone to file in around him. He stared at the wooden surface before him as Jayne slunk in to sit at his right; as Inara glided by and sat opposite Jayne; as Wash and Zoe cautiously stepped inside and sat at the far end of the table; as Simon wandered in and shambled to sit beside Inara; as Andrews came in from engineering, covered in grease, that same dumb look he always had in his eyes. They sat there, no one looking at the others, until Mal sat forward and began to speak.

"I guess we should talk," he said, and he received a couple of slow nods. "And I guess that maybe I should go first."

"Sir…" started Zoe, but Mal raised his hand, his face twisted slightly into a grimace.

"No, Zoe," he said. "Let me…"

But he found that he did not know exactly what to say. He knew how he felt, about how his crew had betrayed his confidence, but he sought the words that would encapsulate everything he was feeling into one sentence. But when that didn't happen, and when no one else was saying anything, he decided that maybe he should start rambling, and see where he ended up.

"I suppose that maybe all I wanted to say is that, I mean, I know everything that happened, and I know that…I mean, what I meant to say is that…" He sighed, and just decided to bite the bullet. "I don't blame you."

That attracted some attention. Jayne, who had been staring vacantly into space, focussed on the Captain, and Inara looked with surprise at Mal. He decided that he should go on, and stood up to start pacing around the table.

"We'd all like to think that everyone around us would walk to the grave for you, do anything for you…and it's easy to think that when everything's fine. But when the chips are down, and your back's against the wall, there are some things you would compromise everything to save or salvage. I know, because I've had things like that in my life. And it's easy to think that you're a team, and that nothing can tear you apart. But if someone comes along – someone vicious enough and smart enough to know you; to get under your skin and know exactly what makes you tick – then there's gonna be no way to defend against that. There are some things in this life," he said, glancing at Simon and Zoe, "That you'd say anything to protect. Do anything." He paused. "Betray anyone."

"Mal…" said Simon in a broken voice, but the Captain put up his hand for patience.

"So like I said. I want to be angry. I want to hurt you the way you hurt me. But the fact is, the more I think about it, the less crazy I get. And there's just no way to hold onto that kinda rage if you can understand why the other guy did what he did. And the more I think about it too, we ain't in the clear yet. We've got men down, we've got enemies out for our blood, and we still don't know what Project Nightmare is, or how we tie into it. So we gotta put it behind us and deal with the issue here, 'cause it ain't gonna resolve itself. So I guess all I want to say is this; I forgive you." But then his tone hardened. "But do it again and we aren't gonna be able to have this conversation again."

The mood in the mess hall changed significantly. The tension all but evaporated, and though the scars were far from healed, Mal had done the honourable thing and put the past behind him so that they might better face the future. Andrews looked around and decided to pipe up.

"Just for the record, I didn't betray you," he said, and was met with scowls all around. He wisely decided to be quiet from that point on. Ignoring their interim engineer, Mal folded his arms and sat back in his chair.

"So the next thing is, welcome back, I guess," he said with a note of disbelief in his voice, directly addressing Wash for the first time. Serenity's pilot nodded and gave a small wave.

"Thanks, Mal," he said lightly. "I just wanted to say how nice it is to see everybody again, and that I'm glad that this isn't at all awkward."

"You're dead. So I'd say this a damn sight awkward," said Jayne bluntly and oblivious to the sarcasm in Wash's voice.

"I'm glad to see some of you haven't changed much," he said to no one in particular, and before Jayne could reply, Inara had sat forward.

"Not that it _isn't_ good to see you back," she said. "But…how is it possible?"

"I watched you die," said Mal in a subdued voice. Then he pointed at his first mate. "And you were stood right next to me, Zoe."

Wash shrugged. "Like I keep telling Zoe, the last thing I remember is watching the front screen of the cockpit shatter and a spear coming towards me…next thing I know, I'm in the back of a van in Mithras with Zoe and Jayne pulling me out through the wreckage." He spread his hands helplessly. "I'm as clueless as you are."

"But we _buried_ you," muttered Simon. "It's not a case of…not checking someone's pulse, or using an instrument that isn't correctly calibrated. We saw your body and we buried it in the ground."

"No," said Zoe, shaking her head. "We found _a_ body. Not even I could tell if it was him or not. The Reavers had mutilated it too badly." Mal noted that her hand was intertwined tightly with her husband's.

Jayne's face screwed up with disbelief. "So you're telling me that the Alliance – in their infinite wisdom – saw that the pilot of a backwater piece of junk was still alive, despite being pierced through the ticker with a spear – that, by the way, found its way through the front screen of a _spaceship_ – and decided to swipe him, switchin' him with a torn up body that they just _happened_ to have on hand…because, what? They liked his company so gorram much?"

Zoe glared at Jayne after his statement of denial. "I don't know what happened," she said in a low, dangerous voice. "All I know is what's right in front of me. And that's the only explanation that makes sense."

Jayne looked to Mal and pointed at Wash. "We oughta lock him up," he commented, and Zoe drove a fist angrily into the table.

"Everyone calm down," advised Mal. Jayne shrugged.

"What? After everythin' that's just happened, you're tellin' me that it's some big coincidence that Wash _miraculously_ returns to us? And that it's somehow completely unrelated to what's goin' on out there?"

"Captain…" warned Zoe, but Mal once again found himself in the position of playing peacekeeper.

"No one's gettin' locked up anywhere," he stated, a statement that was accompanied by a huff from Jayne. "But I gotta agree with Jayne. I don't believe in miracles, and this isn't a coincidence. We have to figure this out."

"I told you," growled Zoe. "It's what that bitch Operative was using against me to make me do what I did. It's what the other one used when he made me release him."

Inara shook her head gently. "We don't even know why the Operative was doing what she was doing," she said softly. "We don't know what her plan was. Is. This could be the next stage in her scheme, being carried out from beyond her grave."

"Well, one of us has that in common with her," muttered Wash.

"Inara's right," said Mal. "If we want to figure out why you're back with us, Wash, then we gotta figure out what she wanted with us."

"Well good luck with that, seein' as how she's dead and all," spoke Jayne.

"Not quite," said Mal, producing the memory chip he had rediscovered in the cargo bay. Simon frowned.

"What is that?" asked the doctor.

"She gave it to me before she died," said Mal. "The Operative, that is. She put it right in my hand, but then I got shot, and I dropped it when I got brought onto the ship. Found it in the cargo bat just now and asked our boy wonder to have a look at it. It's been damaged, but there's still some information on it."

"Such as?" asked Inara.

"Lot of stuff we already knew. Some medical scans. Some stuff about Blue Sun paying for the operation while the Alliance collects the data. That there's somethin' more to Project Nightmare than just breeding those things, that it has an ultimate goal. Doesn't say what it is, though. But it does say somethin' about a cure. And it gives a location."

Simon sat ramrod straight and stared intently at the Captain. "Kaylee?" he asked, and Mal nodded. Wash look confused.

"Wait a second, roll it back for the new guy," he said. "A cure for what?"

"Zoe told you about what happened to Kaylee?" asked Simon, and Wash nodded.

"Well yeah, something about a…thing inside of her." He grimaced. "You think that the Alliance isn't great, but then you see what they did to River. Then Miranda. And just when you think you realise how bad they are, they do something like that to someone like Kaylee."

"You're not wrong," said Mal. "But on this chip there's hope of a cure for little Kaylee. Now it doesn't say what it is, and I doubt, even if the thing was working properly, it would tell us what it is. I ain't blind. This is her way of controlling us from beyond the grave. But I see what she threatened y'all with, or what she promised you. And if she can deliver someone from death in exchange for your help, Zoe, then I truly believe that there's a cure out there for Kaylee. And River," he added, looking at Simon. "All we gotta do is go out and find it."

"Not that I'm all for finding these cures," said Inara, "But wouldn't that be playing right into her hands? Won't we be doing exactly what she wants?"

Mal pursed his lips. "Yes," he replied. When he didn't elaborate, Inara spread her hands wide.

"And…?" she asked. "Isn't that what we should be avoiding doing?"

Mal sat back down in his chair. "'Cause I'm tired of this," he said almost wearily. "The waiting. We got no leads, 'sides the ones she's fed us. No information on the Project. And the Alliance is leavin' us alone. And that I don't like more than anything else. So either we follow her breadcrumbs like good little rats in her maze, or we figure out a lead of her own. I've spent the last days trying to think of one, and I got nothin'." He sat forward with fire in his voice. "So I say we follow her trail. Right to the end. And then we blow this thing wide open, just like we did at Miranda."

"Ballsy," said Jayne, grinning. "I like it."

"Surely there's another way?" asked Inara.

"By all means," said Mal generously. "I'll even walk you through what I've been thinking."

"Please, enlighten us," said Simon. Mal stood up and started to pace around the table.

"This whole thing started with that job to shift the cargo crate across the system, right? We took the first job hauling those necklaces, the kind Kaylee wore when she was given one as a bonus, and then the second time the crate was filled with those _things_." he mused. "But on our way to Beaumonde Harvey took it, and we all know how that worked out for everyone. But we went ahead and visited the guy who we were supposed to deliver the crate to anyway, to try and explain the situation."

Jayne was frowning, trying to recall the events through the haze of what had happened since. "Yeah," he said slowly. "He was real surprised to see us. Reckon he thought we'd be dead on the way when his crate opened up."

"The Operative – the male one – said that's how they made the creatures for Project Nightmare," said Zoe, also casting her mind back. "They rope in smugglers and haulers with the promise of a quick, easy freight job, and between destinations the crate opens up, exposing the crew to the things inside. The Alliance picks up the derelict vessel, and waits for the creatures to spawn."

"Exactly," said Mal. "Except because of Harvey we missed our curtain call and made it to our destination. Then our contact went and started talking to a certain robotic voice that told him to kill us, and I reckon that's the same voice that told the Alliance to leave us be just a few days ago."

"Why the change in attitude?" asked Simon. "First wanting us dead, and now helping us?"

"Because of what the Operative said," replied Inara. "The woman. She told me when she visited me on the New Independent's base that it was becoming too difficult to simply kill us, so they decided to use us in another capacity. Something that ties in with what Project Nightmare is going to do. That's why she started manipulating us all. She was trying to collectively make us do whatever it is that will bring Nightmare to its conclusion."

"So that's our one other lead," said Mal. "The robotic voice. Not our best option for clues, but there it is. And I got no clue about how to go about makin' a call to speak to it."

Jayne sighed. "You're tellin' me that all of this time passed and there's nothin' else for us to go on?"

Mal shook his head. "No, there's something else. But I wanted to talk that out with you all before I brought it up." He held up the chip. "There's an audio file on here."

This piqued Simon's interest. "From the Operative?"

"Guess so," replied Mal. "Now I'm gonna play it. Anyone who doesn't want to hear this should leave now."

Despite the tingle running down their spines, no one left their seat. Mal moved to the wall console and plugged the small device into the appropriate socket. Then he leaned against the wall as words began to play from the speakers.

"_Captain,"_ came forth the silky voice of the female Operative who had plagued them until her demise. _"If you are hearing this message then I am dead. And that is unfortunate, because it means I have not completed my mission._

"_Before I proceed, allow me to explain. You must understand that I hold no malice towards you or your crew. If any fatalities occurred during the course of my operation then I must apologise. It was my desire for you to find yourselves intact once you completed your objective, because frankly, the more of you there are, the better it is for the Project. As for your fates once my part of the Project was completed, I cannot say._

"_Thus you will find on this data chip the necessary information to restore River Tam to her former condition. You will find details of a bank account with a large sum of money wired into it, for the personal use of Jayne Cobb. And you will find the location of an Alliance prisoner named Hoban Washburne. These things I promised to your crew, and I have delivered them. I do this in the knowledge that now I cannot exert control over any of you. The only thing I will say in addition is this; more than the others, Zoe, I deceived you. I would advise that you do not probe too deeply, or that deception will break._

"_In truth, I am delivering these things to you for one reason. If I am dead, it means I met my end at the hands of the Rogue, and it is unacceptable for me to think that, without me there to protect you from his influence, he might commandeer my work to further his own ends. Now he cannot manipulate you in the same way I did to you. _

"_It is imperative that you proceed to the end of Project Nightmare with haste. The only thing I now have to use against you is that, five days after my death, the Alliance Navy will be ordered to open fire on your ship on sight. If the goal of Project Nightmare has not been fulfilled by this time, then your lives are to be forfeit._

"_Good luck to you all."_

The recording hissed and crackled into silence, and Mal replaced the memory chip from the wall into his pocket.

"So?" he asked. "Anyone wanna wait for the deadline to pass? She died three days ago. Leaves us forty-eight hours to wrap everything up nicely."

Simon stared dumbly at the table, his fatigue showing more than ever in his face. "They'll destroy us…" he muttered. "It doesn't…I mean, would they just throw away everything they've done like that…?"

"Yes they would," said Mal. "We're nothin' to them, despite everything. And if anyone here was under any delusions that we might all survive the next week, then I have to shatter your fantasy now. This is the big league. We're in too deep now to ever get out. People are gonna die. Let's just make sure we take as many down with us as we can."

There was a subdued silence as everyone contemplated their collective fate.

"Let's do it," said Zoe in a low, determined voice. "They've taken too much from us by now. Let's make 'em hurt for it."

Mal looked to Wash, and though their pilot had just returned to them, he was nodding resolutely alongside his wife. Inara was almost smiling.

"I never thought I'd end up in a situation like this," she said wryly. "I guess this is what happens when you associate with shady characters."

Mal smiled lopsidedly, recognising Inara's statement of intent to carry on with their journey.

"I guess I'll come too," said Jayne. This time Mal was genuinely surprised.

"You do remember the part where you have an enormous sum of money?" asked the Captain, and Jayne nodded.

"Yeah. I don't wanna talk about it," he said gruffly.

"Doc?" asked Mal. "How 'bout it?"

"Of course," said Simon simply. He stood and extended his hand. "Can I have the device?"

Mal handed the memory chip to the doctor. "Get our destination from it and put it in the main computer," he instructed. "We leave immediately."

They all rose from the mess table, each with their own tasks, but none as pressing as Simon's, who moved quickly to his bunk where his sister lay in her enforced coma.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

Some time later, Simon had analysed the contents of the memory device and extracted the cure for River from it. His younger sibling had been taken by the Alliance at a young age and kept at the mysterious 'Academy', where they had done God knows what to her. As a result she was, at best, mentally disturbed, and had been taught a range of skills that involved a great skill at fighting, proficiency with firearms, and computer decryption.

Everything that a covert agent would need for infiltration, in short. Perhaps even an assassin. But Simon didn't want to think about it. Another symptom of River's condition was that she was susceptible to various stimuli that made her behave in different ways. When the very first Operative they had encountered was hunting for River, he had encoded a common advert with a visual pulse that had made River go berserk, attacking the inhabitants of a spacer bar. However, she was also vulnerable to code words, such as the one Simon had used to incapacitate her during her rampage. He was only privy to a select few of these words, and apparently the female Operative had used another to render River completely inert, to the point that her brain had started to slowly die.

Simon didn't know how the Alliance had done it, but they had encoded River with the programming that made her mind slowly kill itself. And the cure, amazed as he had been to learn it, was a simple cocktail of drugs that were widely available even in a Firefly's limited infirmary. The exact combination was harmless to a human – indeed, the cocktail also had no positive effect on the human physiology that Simon could determine. But if he had to guess, River's body had been trained to respond to visual and auditory triggers, so it was not beyond the realm of possibility to imagine that the girl had been programmed to respond to chemical stimulus, too.

He had administered the cure, and now all he could do was wait for her to rouse from her vegetative state. As he climbed the ladder leading up from his bunk he felt a mixture of terror and immense relief – the latter because he might finally have his sister back, but the former because he had no idea what the drug cocktail might do to her. He was at his wits end, and having researched frantically for the past three days, almost without sleep, and coming up empty handed, he had no other option but to trust that the slimy Operative's miraculous cure would have the desired effect.

He rounded the corner into the stairwell that led down into the cargo bay and nearly jumped out of his skin when he came face to face with Cullen.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, steadying himself against the bulkhead. "You startled me."

Cullen shrugged. "Sorry," he said. "I actually came to find you. Do you have a minute?"

Simon pointed towards the stairs. "I'm just on my way down to the infirmary," he replied. The memory device held information about Kaylee's condition, and though his body desperately needed sleep, he couldn't abandon his quest for knowledge. Even though River appeared to be cured, there was still a woman he cared about who was suffering from a mysterious ailment.

Cullen nodded and smiled amiably. "That's fine." They began to walk down the steps that fed out onto the cargo bay gangway. "Where is everyone else?" asked the teenager.

"Busy," said Simon. It occurred to him that he had never really interacted with their mysterious passenger before now.

"But the ship is so quiet," he was saying. "It's like a ghost ship," he joked.

"Ah, yes," said Simon. "Well, everyone has their area to be getting on with. Andrews is in the engine room, Mal and Zoe and Wash are all on the bridge plotting our next course. I don't know where Jayne is. Or Inara."

"They were in the mess hall," informed Cullen. "I think Jayne was cleaning the weapons."

Simon nodded. "Yes…that sounds like Jayne."

They started down the next set of stairs, leading down into the cargo bay.

"Is your sister cured?" asked Cullen politely. "She's in your bunk, right?"

"Yes. I have my hopes, but I really can't be sure," said Simon. "Anything from the Alliance is always dubious, I find. At least recently."

"You never used to think that?" enquired Cullen as they stepped onto the bottom deck of the ship. Simon shook his head.

"No. I supported Unification. But after everything I've seen…"

Cullen shrugged. "My parents also supported Unification," he said. "I'm not sure what I think. The war happened before my time."

"Well, you should spend a couple of years travelling with Mal," snorted Simon. "He seems to find the worst of the Alliance and expose it for all to see. Even when he isn't trying to do it, it happens."

They stepped through the door separating the cargo bay from the communal area, in which was the entrance to the infirmary.

"What about…Kaylee, is it?" asked the youth.

"She's in here," said Simon, pointing to the infirmary. "In cryogenic suspension. It's actually why I came down here. We might have found some information that could lead to a cure."

The doctor stepped inside the infirmary, and after casting a long glance at either end of the room outside, Cullen followed him inside. Simon moved to one of the consoles, eager to begin his research. As he called up the relevant data on his screen, something occurred to him. "Didn't you want something?" Simon called absently over his shoulder as Cullen silently moved to an instrument tray and removed a scalpel from the rows of equipment.

The teenager scanned the room and spotted what looked like a regular cargo crate stored underneath the right hand bed. He pointed to it as he hid the blade in his hand, holding against his inner arm.

"Is that her?" he asked.

Simon turned to face the youth. "What? Yes," he answered, frowning. "Why do you want to know so much about where everyone is?"

Cullen flashed forward, the blade shining in his hand. Simon never had a chance. The scalpel sliced through his throat, severing his carotid artery and his larynx in one motion. Simon lurched back, his hands automatically seeking his throat in an attempt to stem the flow of blood erupting from his neck, but Cullen had caught the doctor as he fell, careful not to make any noise. Simon tried to call out, even just to give life to his mortal pain, but his severed larynx was incapable of producing any sound. Cullen gently lay Simon on the ground as the strength quickly evaporated from his body, his skin fading paler by the second as a shocking amount of blood escaped his body. It gathered in a pool beneath Simon, soaking into his clothes, and he could feel the warm, sticky substance gather and seep into his back, and the last thing he ever felt was the intense, metallic sting in his nostrils.

Within a minute, Simon gave one last lurch, and his last breath ached from his body. His lifeless eyes stared up at the ceiling, his expression locked in a mixture of shock and deep regret for all eternity.

Cullen rose emotionlessly from the corpse of the doctor and moved to the right hand table. He knelt next to the container that held the ship's engineer and started to alter the settings located on the side with great intent. The temperature started to rise within the crate, and the dial for the sedatives was locked into its delivery position.

The teenager rose from the crate with the knowledge that soon Kaylee would either boil alive or die from an overdose of tranquillisers. He moved to the entrance of the room. The pool of Simon's blood had seeped to cover almost the entire floor, and Cullen was covered with the substance. He cast a furtive glance outside of the infirmary, and seeing that the way was clear, removed his shirt. A second layer of clothing was revealed underneath the first, unstained by blood, and he discarded the first shirt, tossing it carelessly onto the deck. He carefully removed his left shoe, stepped outside with that foot, and then took off his right shoe. The teenager threw the bloodstained footwear inside with the shirt, and then pulled down his trousers. Except for the fact that he was barefoot, he was now blood-free and wearing a new, untainted set of clothing.

Cullen slid the door to the infirmary closed and sealed it, locking his original outfit and the two corpses inside, no emotion showing on his face. He moved towards the steps and took them two at a time, emerging at the entrance to the engine room. A glance to his right showed that Jayne and Inara could not see the compartment from where they sat, and he could hear Andrews puttering around inside. With seasoned speed, Cullen strode with purpose on catlike feet into the engine room. Andrews' back was turned to the door. The teenager swept close to the New Independent's body, wrapped his left arm around his neck and placed his right hand over the engineer's ear. Before he could even make a sound, Cullen twisted brutally, severing Andrews' neck. He caught the weight of the older man's body and clamped his mouth tightly closed, as to contain the noise of any death throes.

Andrews went limp in Cullen's arms, lifeless, and the youth dragged his body behind the central engine column where it would remain concealed, unless someone set out to find it with a purpose. The teenager removed the pistol from the engineer's belt and tucked it into his trousers at the small of his back. He moved to the panel that had been set up to accept the instruction to overload the engines on command – the self-destruct mechanism the New Independents had installed onto the ship. It asked for a confirmation code, but Cullen reached into depths of his knowledge store and retrieved the skills that would easily allow him to bypass the complicated system set into place. With the command set, all that needed to be done was press the button set into the panel, which Cullen did. With the sequence primed, there were only five minutes before the engines reached critical mass and detonated, destroying the entire ship.

Just as he stepped back from the console, he heard someone approach the hatch. He quickly checked where he had stowed Andrews' body to determine if it was visible, but he had been careful enough. Wash emerged in the threshold.

"Oh, hey," said the recently returned pilot. "You seen Andrews? I need to talk to him about…pilot stuff."

Cullen shrugged, easing back into his affable-teenager personality. "Not sure," he said. "I'm looking for him myself. Maybe he went down to the infirmary?"

Wash frowned. "Why there?"

Cullen shrugged. "Why not?"

"Touché," replied the pilot wryly. He stepped out into the stairway and Cullen joined him.

"I'll come with you," said the teenager as they started down the stairs.

"Sure. What do you need him for?" asked Wash as they rounded the corner and began their final descent that would lead them into the common area outside the infirmary.

Without warning Cullen forced his elbow into the side of Wash's head, connecting firmly with the pressure point in his temple. Stunned, he almost lost his balance, but Cullen grabbed his shoulders and forced him to half stumble, half fall down the remainder of the steps.

When they reached the bottom deck, Cullen seized Wash's head between his hands and rammed it into the metallic corner of the bulkhead, delivering a fatal amount of force to the pilot's sensitive temple. Worry almost crossed Cullen's now emotionless expression as he took hold of Wash's legs and dragged his body so it sat slumped against the wall, hidden from obvious view if anyone came down the stairs from the engine room.

The teenager hurried back up the stairs and this time hung right, emerging in the mess hall. Inara and Jayne, oblivious to what was going on scant metres away from them. Jayne barely looked up from where he had disassembled almost every weapon on the ship, cleaning and maintaining the broken down components of the pistols and rifles.

Inara, however, had more time for the teenager. She looked up from where she sat reading in the small area set off to the side of the main dining table and smiled sweetly.

"Good afternoon, Cullen," she said. He returned the smile.

"How can you even tell what time it is out here?" he asked.

"Oh, you get used to it," said Mal as he walked into the room. "Passage of time and all that."

"And good afternoon to you, too, Mal," she said. He grunted.

"What've you got?" he asked. Inara looked down at the pages she held in her hands.

"Nothing and more nothing," she replied. "The information the Operative gave to you is doing its job well. There's enough interest to pique curiosity, but nothing concrete enough to pursue. You said it was damaged?" Mal nodded. "Maybe she harmed it deliberately, so it looks like there was more here originally. All of the sensitive information is conveniently located in the damaged sectors of the memory device."

"Hmm," said Mal, as if it was all he was expecting Inara to say. "Well, keep lookin', I guess. She might have missed something."

But they both knew there wasn't much hope of finding anything new in something provided to them by the Operative. The only thing that had foiled her had been the Rogue, someone with as much training as she in her particular vocation. And little did they know that another instrument of the Rogue's plan currently stood next to them, his hand falling idly to the pistol he had hidden at the back of his trousers. Mal walked away from Inara towards Jayne.

"How's it going?" he asked. The big mercenary shrugged.

"How's it look like it's going?" he replied crossly. He pointed to the right hand side of the table. "Those are done, and the others aren't yet."

Mal frowned. "You've only done three guns?"

"What's the rush?" asked Jayne angrily, and Mal shrugged.

"Don't get so defensive, Jayne," he mocked, and then the joviality faded from his expression.

"Don't tell me what to…" started Jayne, but Mal held up a hand.

"Shh," instructed Mal.

"Didn't I just say not to…?" stormed Jayne, but Mal's expression drove him into silence.

"Shut up!" snapped Mal. He listened carefully for a few moments. "Do you hear that?" he asked.

"Oh, can I speak now?" asked Jayne sarcastically. Mal glared at him.

"Listen," the Captain instructed.

Jayne's ears strained for several moments. "I don't hear anything," he said after a genuine attempt.

"The engines are out," said Mal, still focussed on what only he could hear.

"No they ain't," asserted Jayne, confused. "I can hear them_._"

"Not _out_ out, I mean they're not workin' properly."

"Where's Zoe?" asked Cullen suddenly, breaking the course of the conversation. Mal scowled at the youth and pointed vaguely to his right.

"On the bridge," he said. "Why'd you want to know, anyway?"

Without saying another word, Cullen produced the pistol he was hiding in his right hand, and without even looking, he fired three times to the side, piercing Inara twice through the heart and once in the forehead. She was dead before the first gunshot had consciously registered in her mind. As the Companion slid from her chair, lifeless to the ground, the sirens that signified the imminent overload of the engines began to sound, and the engine coolant began to escape from the pipes that fed throughout the ship. Heavy smoke started to rupture and pour from the walls, bathing the air with toxic fumes.

Mal's eyes filled with shock and loss and pain, and Cullen's pistol swept around to deliver lethal shots to the two men before him but Jayne's senses proved too fast even for the augmented teenager. He pulled Mal to the ground and swept the arrayed pieces of weaponry along with him as they fell, brushing the three functioning guns with him.

Cullen fired accurately, but the cover Jayne had fallen behind shielded the two men from harm. The teenager strode purposefully towards their hiding place as Jayne frantically loaded one of the pistols and Mal heaved his own personal weapon from its holster. They both erupted from cover as one, firing wildly at the errant teenager. Cullen ducked behind the wall of the kitchen, taking shelter from their assault. Jayne worked backwards towards the bridge, but Mal, blinded by grief, moved forwards towards the fallen Inara.

"Mal!" roared Jayne from the threshold, but it was too late for the Captain. Intent on punishing the one responsible for Inara's death, Mal moved too close to where Cullen lay in waiting, and the youth was able to grab Mal's wrist, squeezing tightly and forcing the weapon from his grasp. His other palm Cullen jabbed into Mal's throat, and the older man fell back gagging for air. Defenceless and defeated, he could only spit his last breath at Cullen as the boy shot him point blank in the chest. Without pausing Cullen moved forward over the Captain as Mal's life abandoned him, through the ever increasing smog in the air as Jayne pointed his pistol around the corner from where he huddled for cover and fired blindly.

Cullen's senses analysed the situation in a split second, and he fired expertly across the room and found his target – Jayne's foot stuck out from around the cover he hid behind, and the bullet shredded the man's heel. Jayne howled with pain and, his balance lost, he fell forward into the range of Cullen's fire. His scream of pain died as he did – Cullen's next round found its way through Jayne's throat and the mercenary was dead before he hit the ground.

The teenager raced forward, intent on completing his mission, into the corridor leading to the bridge. He crouched and took aim at the entrance to the control hub of the ship.

"Zoe!" he cried in a scared voice, though his face betrayed no emotion. "Help us!"

The first mate, having heard the gunshots, was waiting behind cover on the bridge to assess the situation before she charged headlong into a situation she knew nothing about. But hearing a familiar voice, and because Mal and Jayne had never had time to shout a warning to her about what they now knew about Cullen, she emerged from her cover in order to give aid to her crew.

As her head came out from behind the doorway, one more shot echoed from Cullen's weapon and it found its target with deadly accuracy – without even knowing who had killed her, Zoe had received a bullet to the brain and went to join her husband in whatever afterlife existed for them.

Cullen worked quickly along to the second hatch on the left and kicked the entry so it fell open. He deftly descended the ladder into Simon's bunk, and with the last round in his weapon, he aimed at the prone form of River Tam.

Time seemed to slow to a halt even as the automated computer made an announcement that the ship was going to be imminently destroyed, breaking apart under the pressure of its overloading engines, and River sat up, her eyes still closed.

Expressionless, Cullen took careful aim with his weapon and squeezed the trigger. The bullet exploded out of the barrel of the gun, sped through the cabin and as it shattered through River's skull, devastating the bone and lancing through her brain, she sat up screaming in bed, her hands trying to bat away the burning hot metal as it penetrated her thoughts.

Though she was frightened, it quickly became obvious that she was still alive, and she cast her eyes about her, trying to find some reference point to reality as she fought off sobs of terror. She was in Simon's bunk. Quite how she knew that she didn't know, but she did.

"There must be a hole in here," she muttered, calming herself, feeling at the sides of her head. "It leaks in from nowhere."

There was no voice warning of the imminent destruction of the ship. No smog in the air. No gunfire.

River had seen what was going to happen if she didn't act, right now, to deter it. She stood up from the bed and stared resolutely at the hatch that would let her out into the rest of the ship. Let loose in the corridors of this vessel was a scrawny teenaged stranger who was going to take away the only people who had ever truly cared for River. Who had kept her safe when she was incapable of taking care of herself. Who she had defended to the death against all odds. He was going to breeze in and take it all away without even a moment of malice within him, because he had been programmed to do so.

"Not on my watch," she said with a voice of steel.

A/N:

_Sorry for the length but there was a lot to cover and it wouldn't have worked in two smaller chapters._


	28. Day Twelve: Binary Opposition

**Day Twelve**

**Binary Opposition**

"You never used to think that?" enquired Cullen as they stepped onto the bottom deck of the cargo bay. Simon shook his head as they walked towards the infirmary, never really paying attention to the teenager.

"No. I supported Unification. But after everything I've seen…"

Upstairs, River mounted the ladder in Simon's bunk with a tense, desperate energy, leaped out into the corridor outside the living quarters and started to run as fast as her legs would carry her.

Cullen and Simon stepped through the gateway that led from the cargo bay to the communal area outside the infirmary. "What about…Kaylee, is it?" asked the youth.

"She's in here," said Simon, pointing to the medical bay. "In cryogenic suspension. It's actually why I came down here. We might have found some information that could lead to a cure."

The doctor stepped inside the infirmary as above him, his sister pounded down the stairs from outside the mess hall and onto the gangway above the cargo bay. Cullen cast a sidelong glance at either end of the room outside the infirmary and then followed Simon inside. The doctor moved to one of the consoles, eager to begin his research. As he called up the relevant data on his screen, something occurred to him. "Didn't you want something?" Simon called absently over his shoulder as Cullen silently moved to an instrument tray and removed a scalpel from the rows of equipment.

"Simon!" echoed River's voice, and the sound of his sister, awake and well, was enough to snap Simon out of whatever else he was feeling, piercing through his exhaustion and filling his entire being with joy. He stood from the console, his face flooding with happiness and wonder.

"River?" he called back, not knowing where his sister was to run to her. Cullen's eyes darkened, and he pointed towards the cargo crate he had seen stowed beneath the right hand examination table.

"Is that Kaylee?" he asked.

Simon turned to face the youth, absent in his wonder. "What? Yes," he answered, and then confusion leaked through his happiness, and he began to frown. "Why do you want to know so much about where everyone is?"

As Cullen surged forward with the scalpel shining in his hand, River erupted around the corner of the infirmary door and seized the other youth's arm, forcing his strike into the wall. The scalpel snapped in half with the force of the impact, and Cullen was made to drop his weapon as River's other fist drove into his face, connecting solidly. He staggered back as Simon gaped with shock after what had just happened, but River was relentless.

She lashed out with her foot but Cullen was ready for her this time. He ducked underneath her kick, stooping down low towards the deck, and snatched River's other leg from beneath her. With nothing to support her she fell onto her back, rolling sideways as soon as she hit the deck. Cullen's foot dropped with devastating force onto the space River's head had just occupied. The girl kept rolling, reaching the bulkhead as the boy followed her, intent on the kill.

River's legs swept around, trying to disable Cullen's ankles, but he leapt over her attempted strike, grabbing hold of a girder above his head so his feet dangled in the air. River was up in a flash as Cullen, anticipating her move, reared his body back and drove both of his feet straight at the girl, but she danced to the side, making the renegade teenager kick the wall. She jabbed harshly into his exposed kidney, and the strength fell out of Cullen. He dropped to the deck, catlike on his feet, and met River's next onslaught, deflecting blow after blow as they danced and swirled around each other

The sleep deprived Simon had roused enough of his senses to physically respond to the situation, and he charged at the boy who was attacking his sister, trying to grapple him to the ground, but Cullen skirted around the attack, driving Simon into the panel behind him. An equipment tray scattered with the doctor's impact, sending various instruments hurtling across the room. Cullen executed a perfect dive, rolling over his head and scooping up a gleaming pair of surgical scissors in one hand and a second scalpel in the other as River seized the weapon closest to her, a long, heavy bone saw. The two teenagers faced off, each analysing the other with the programming instilled within them by the Alliance.

Simon stirred from where he had fallen, gazing between the two anxiously as they stood poised like statues. River stood between Cullen and the door.

Faster than Simon could properly process, Cullen had flashed forward, letting the scalpel dart through the air straight towards Simon's eye, but River was there in time – she lifted the upended instrument tray into the air and swept it between Simon and the speeding projectile. The scalpel buried itself in the half-inch of steel, penetrating the other side and sticking out halfway on its course towards Simon. Her brother was saved again, but Cullen had used the opportunity to dart around River and into the common area outside the medical bay.

River bounded out after her adversary when footsteps coming down the stairs distracted her. Andrews appeared, a frown on his face.

"What's all the commotion about down here?" he asked as Simon emerged after his sister.

"Get out of here!" roared the doctor. "Warn the others!"

Their stand-in engineer looked confused until he saw the scissors in Cullen's hand, and the bone saw held firmly in River's grasp.

"What's going on here?" he asked cautiously, eyeing River warily. "Wasn't she asleep until now?"

"Yes!" cried Cullen, fear seeping across his face. "The Operative made her fall asleep, and she came and attacked me! She's out of control!"

Simon's face twisted with rage. "That's not true!" he yelled. "He attacked me, there's something wrong with him…!"

But Andrews had stepped into the common area, and he had dropped his guard enough for Cullen to take advantage of. The boy surged forward, grabbing Andrews roughly around the neck and holding the scissors up to his throat. River moved to him, ready to attack, but unlike Cullen her programming wasn't in total control. She could feel emotion, and she could reason, whereas Cullen's face had emptied of all feeling, his eyes coldly calculating the odds of still completing his unconscious mission.

After a moment of analysing his options, he sank the scissors into Andrews' neck, the cold steel sliding easily through the layers of skin and muscle and vein. The engineer gagged involuntarily, and then Cullen discarded his hostage, pushing him towards River. The man collapsed in a heap at her feet, but she did not pay him any heed because Cullen was already lunging for the girl. She deflected the strike as Simon rushed to Andrews' aid, placing his hand over his pinpoint wound as blood gushed from his neck, his eyes wide with shock and fear.

"It's going to be alright," said Simon as the teenagers swirled around him. Cullen lunged for Simon's heart, but River reached forward and deflected the blow with her bone saw as her brother assisted their fallen comrade. The doctor tore the fabric of his shirt, desperately using it as a bandage to stem the flow of the crimson flood seeping from his patient's neck.

"_Help!"_ roared Simon, panic edging into his voice. _"Someone help – "_ But he coughed and spluttered as Cullen's foot found his chest, sending him falling backwards. Andrews fell to the floor as feet started to bound down the stairs, but at that moment Cullen won the upper hand in his battle against his counterpart. River's foot connected with the boy's hand and the scissors he had used clattered harmlessly away, but he used the opening to charge forwards, using his entire body weight to stagger River, forcing her back into the infirmary. The girl lost her balance and was unable to do anything as Cullen slammed the door of the medical bay closed, sealing it from the outside as the first people from the upper deck emerged into the room – Jayne and Inara from the cargo bay side, and Mal, Wash and Zoe from the engine room side.

"What's…"

"Who…"

"Oh my…"

Confused exclamations flooded the room as the others rushed to Simon's aid, the doctor cradling the gurgling Andrews, whose blood stained the deck of the ship, but Cullen wasn't paying them any attention. He stood facing the door, looking into the infirmary through the viewport built into the door, where River stood on the opposite side staring back. Neither emoted or moved a muscle, staring intently through the barrier at their opponent.

Mal stepped forward from the crowd that had surrounded the fallen engineer, one hand held before him in an easing gesture, the other falling to the holster at his side.

"Jayne, go and get those restraints," he said in a low, tense voice. The mercenary, knowing not to fool around this time, hurried away to retrieve the items as Simon did his best with the stab wound in Andrews' neck, and Inara muttered calmly and soothingly to the engineer.

"Captain," said Zoe tautly as she moved to his side, and Mal knew what she was going to say before she said it. This boy was a product of the same place that had turned River into what she was today, but Cullen could not show the same restraint that River was sometimes capable of showing. Simon had rescued her before they could fully complete what they set out to do to her – no one had done the same for Cullen. If he had been activated, then there would be no stopping him. Mal had seen River in such a state, and knew that there would be no reasoning with him.

"Yeah, I know," he said, confirming Zoe's statement before she had to say it. He edged closer to Cullen, who still had not moved. "Listen to me, Cullen," he said quietly, not wanting to agitate the situation further. "If you can hear me – if I'm getting through to you – then you need to stand down before anyone else gets hurt."

Jayne came back into the room with a set of manacles. Mal nodded to him, and the mercenary joined the Captain and first mate as they crept closer to the volatile youth.

Jayne readied the manacles as he drew with arms reach of the boy. Mal tried to reason with the teenager as Andrews coughed and spluttered, blood seeping into his throat.

"Listen, kid. We're just gonna put these on you. No need for further harm to come to anyone. We know you ain't doin' this – we know the Alliance ripped open your mind and put their own thoughts in there. No one is out to hurt you. So just stay calm."

Jayne reached forward, the cuffs extended, and just as he was about to reach the teenager's wrists, Cullen's eyes flickered to the side, the first motion he had made since locking River in the infirmary.

He snatched around, driving Jayne forward into the closed door of the medical bay, the mercenary's forehead connecting with the metal with a loud crack. Startled, Mal tried to draw his weapon but in one motion Cullen had lashed out at the Captain and Zoe simultaneously. Mal's pistol clattered to the side and Zoe fell back, winded by the teenager's strike. Jayne had come back around by this time, but he was felled by another expert blow to his face. Cullen's harshly emotionless eyes scanned the room, seeing that Mal and Zoe were between him and the stairwell leading up to the engine room, and darted away into the cargo bay. A second later, Mal was back on his feet and after Cullen, waving his crew to follow him. As Zoe and Jayne bounded after their speeding Captain, Inara gave a torn look to Simon, who nodded to her.

"If you think you can help, go with them!" he instructed. As Inara ran from the fallen engineer, Simon called over his shoulder. "Wash! Get over here!"

The pilot rushed to aid the doctor as Cullen stopped in the middle of the cargo bay, turning to face his pursuers. Mal's face was resolute as he considered the notion of attacking a person with the same ability as River with only two of his crew to assist him. River had assaulted a bar full of spacers who each had a lifetime's experience of participating in bar brawls without any of them landing a hit on her. Nevertheless, the Captain stood forward.

"Final warning, son," he said, not even sure if Cullen would hear his words, let alone understand them. "You carry on with this, we're gonna have to put you down."

As he spoke, Inara rushed through the mess hall and to her bunk where she descended the ladder in record time. The normally neat Companion tore through her belongings, scattering the meagre personal possessions she had left across the room in an attempt to unearth what she was looking for. The room now in total disarray, Inara looked upon the sight of the Operative's sword. Back in Mithras she had been given the weapon by the Alliance agent to fend off their pursuers, and no one had ever taken it away from her.

She seized the weapon and clambered back up the ladder towards the cargo bay as Mal eased towards their errant passenger. Zoe bristled with anticipation.

"Just _say_ something," she muttered at the boy. "There must be _something_ human left inside him."

"Why isn't he doin' anything?" asked Jayne in a cautious voice. Mal appraised the teenager.

"He's figurin' out his next move," said Mal. "He had a plan programmed into him, but River fouled it up. He's trying to adapt to his new circumstances."

Cullen's hands balled into fists, and Mal readied himself as Simon and Wash hauled Andrews up between them, the life draining out of the engineer by the second. Inara's feet pounded along the mess hall deck as Cullen flew forward, his hands deflecting Mal's attempt to stop him.

Zoe and Jayne approached Cullen in a pincer movement, but he leaped over Mal's back and between the Captain's crewmates with astounding dexterity, leaving the trio in a tangled mess behind him. He tried to move back towards the infirmary but Zoe leaped forward, managing to grab hold of one of Cullen's feet as she fell to the deck. His balance lost, the boy plummeted to the metal below him, but he had adapted within a second. He rolled onto his back and kicked at Zoe's face, driving his heel directly into the woman's nose. With a cry of pain she let go of his foot, and Cullen scrambled towards the door to the cargo bay as Simon released the lock on the infirmary. However when Simon looked to the side, Wash was no longer with him.

The pilot had heard his wife's cry of pain, and he had immediately moved to where Mal's pistol had fallen moments earlier, scooping it up into his hand and racing towards the cargo bay. Cullen reached the door just as Wash did, and as the pilot levelled the pistol at the teenager Cullen seized Wash's forearm and dragged him into the cargo bay.

River threw open the door to the infirmary and charged towards her counterpart as Cullen sealed the next door closed, locking her out once again. This time, however, there was no time to stop and stare as Mal, Jayne and Zoe rounded on Cullen, trapping him against the closed hatch.

A split-second before they reached him, Cullen kicked at Wash's hand and the pistol soared away into the bay, and then he met his enemy's charge. Fighting with agility and evasiveness rather than strength, Cullen danced around the others' attacks with frightening ability, landing kicks and punches through openings Mal didn't even recognise as opportunities. Wash broke free of the melee as Inara began to bound down the stairs from the mess hall, the pilot reaching for the discarded pistol.

Cullen threw off Jayne and delivered a blow to Mal's temple. The Captain staggered to the side, stunned, and Jayne fell back against a cargo container. Zoe followed him as he ran towards Wash, the pilot seizing the pistol firmly and bringing it around to bear on the boy bearing down on him.

The teenager leapt into the air, grabbed the metal bar that supported the stairs above their heads and flipped off it, his feet forwards and kicked the pistol far from Wash's hands again just as the pilot would have had a clean shot. He hit the deck and rolled underneath Inara's first attack, sweeping his leg to the side and toppling the Companion to the deck, and then rolled from the fallen woman as Zoe brought a metal pipe she had sequestered down where his head had just been. The deck rang with the contact, and Cullen sprang to his feet, his eyes still devoid of emotion.

The battered crew rose to face the boy, Mal pointing Jayne to the left as he went to the teenager's right. Blood dripped from a contusion on his temple, the Captain's eyes were slightly unfocussed, and the others were no better off than he. Cullen was unscathed.

"How are we gonna capture him if we can't even land a hit on him?" growled Jayne. Cullen's eyes swept up to the gangway above them, and Mal risked a glance behind him to see River standing serenely, gazing vacantly down upon them.

"C'mon, albatross," he muttered, turning back to face Cullen. "Don't go all weak and girly on us now."

"Now!" yelled Zoe, and her order prompted a communal surge forward as the four crew members tried to overwhelm Cullen all at once, but his reactions proved too fast even for this combined strike. River leapt from the lower gangway, landing lightly on her feet, and Cullen seemed to have been waiting for this moment. He met Jayne's rush head on, twisting around the man's strike and using his opponent's body weight against him, forcing him staggering away from the melee. He hit the console next to the airlock hard, bouncing off it hard as Cullen ducked and sidestepped around a series of strikes delivered by Inara's Operative blade. The mercenary glared up at Cullen, ready to dive back into the fight, when he realised what had just happened. His eyes widened as he looked at the console he had just fell against.

"Ai ya, wo mun wan leh," he muttered as the alarms started to blaze and the airlock doors began to open. Mal and the others looked from their exchange, startled, and Cullen took advantage of the pause in the fighting. He shoved the three remaining crew away from him and began to sprint for the stairs as the doors parted and the cargo bay was exposed to the vacuum of space.

There was a split second where River could have intercepted the fleeing teenaged boy, but she allowed him to escape past her, choosing instead to assist her companions. Jayne made a leap for the base of the control panel, wrapping his arms around it as the force of the vacuum seized him, trying to rip him into the depths of space, and the others were no different, grabbing hold of any fixed and stable object and holding on for dear life. Loose objects skittered past the desperate crewmembers, and Mal's pistol slid and flew from where Wash had been forced to drop it, spinning out into the vastness surrounding the vessel.

Cullen had seized hold of the rail at the side of the stairwell, and was using the vacuum to his own advantage – while his enemies were struggling down below, he was scaling the rail like a vertical wall, moving slowly but steadily towards the upper deck and to his objective, the engine room.

Below him, Jayne's fingers began to slip on the metal column, and he roared with the strain of holding on. River's eyes narrowed, some of the emotionless quality of Cullen's gaze leaking into her own. She took in her surroundings from where she held on to a protruding girder, allowing for the factors of the movement of the air and gravity, and then she let go of her handhold.

The girl skirted along the deck, rushing towards the empty vacuum yawning open between the twin doors of the airlock, her boots kicking against the deck, controlling her course. Just as it seemed as if she would be lost forever, she twisted around and landed against the column of the control panel. She slipped, losing her footing, but her arms wrapped around the pole in the same way Jayne was holding on. She clambered up the column with astounding agility, using the motion of the vacuum to propel herself upwards, and then with a final heaving effort, she reached up and slammed her open palm onto the same controls Jayne had activated with the force of his fall.

Agonisingly slowly, the twin doors slid closed and the ramp rose upwards, and as the opening was reduced so was the strength of the vacuum tearing the contents of the ship out into space, until it had been reduced to nothing as the airlock slid closed.

Jayne, Mal and the others hit the deck and allowed themselves a moment to breath, but River was up after a second because her counterpart above her was rising from the gangway, intent on his goal. He sprinted along the walkway, too far ahead of River for her to be able to do anything to stop him. He had entered the engine room before River had even reached the stairs at the bottom of the cargo bay, and he reached into his store of knowledge, bypassing the encryption placed on the self-destruct mechanism placed in the engine room by the New Independents. He pressed the button that would activate the process, and as he did so River slowed to a halt on her mad dash towards the engine room. She was too late. The ship would rip itself apart in five minutes, its engines overloading into an explosion.

"That kid is starting to piss me off!" roared Mal as he led the others up the stairs behind River. "Wash, get that gun!"

"The one floating around outside?" asked the pilot as he swept his wife into an embrace, each checking the other way okay, the five people assembling to mount an attack on the renegade teenager.

"Gorram it," snapped Mal. "Hasn't anyone got a weapon?"

Inara showed him the Operative's sword, but she was the only one. Jayne piped up.

"I was cleanin' 'em all in the mess hall," he said. "If we can get up there, should be two more guns ready to go. If they didn't get sucked out into space."

"And if we can get to the mess hall," observed Zoe. They had reached the upper gangway and saw River standing still, staring forwards at the corridor ahead of her where Cullen stood staring back at her. He stood between the six of them, the engine room and the mess hall.

"Statistics and probability," observed River. "The universal language of everything."

"Well, we got our own psycho teenager," said Jayne, cracking his knuckles. "That should count for somethin' right?" River turned to gaze at him.

"Won't count for anything in four minutes and six seconds," she said. Then she frowned. "Five."

Mal figured it out. "He activated the self-destruct. We gotta get past him and switch it off."

"Only one who can do that is Andrews," said Zoe. "And last I saw, he was suffering from an extreme case of bleeding to death."

"Gorram it," said Mal again. "Then we gotta subdue the kid, get Andrews if he ain't dead, and get him to put in the code to deactivate it."

"And if he's dead?" asked Inara, and Mal shrugged.

"Then we're screwed. River, you think you can take him?"

The girl gazed at Cullen speculatively, her eyes assessing the teenager blocking their way. "I'm incomplete," she answered.

"Great – I love it how she only goes mellow when we need her to be fighting lady," muttered Jayne. Wash looked about him at the others.

"Guys, are we gonna stand here and talk about it all day or do this?" asked the pilot hurriedly. "'Cause I'm all for not blowing up here."

Mal nodded resolutely. "Yeah. We got strength in numbers. If we all rush him at once…" He stopped as River suddenly darted forward and Cullen squared up, ready to meet her attack. "…Or not."

They rushed forward to back up River as Cullen engaged her, the pair managing to pummel only air as they crept and danced around each other, neither even landing a hit on the other. He broke from his combat with River just as Mal was about to reach him and drove his foot squarely into Mal's chest. The Captain was forced back, and in the narrow space of the corridor this meant that he bowled back into the others, as they were unable to move around him. Cullen turned to face River, but too late – Mal's distraction had cost the teenager the upper hand as River connected solidly, battering Cullen with her fists in sensitive places. Forced back onto the defensive, Cullen could only watch Mal rise up with the others, set to engage him again.

Cullen ducked under another punch by River and swirled into the crowd of his adversaries, confusing and breaking them apart. Inara tried to drive her sword into the teenager's belly, but he stepped around the strike, forcing the Companion behind him. He struck at her back, forcing Inara into the wall, and Wash used this moment to leap onto Cullen's back, trying to subdue the younger man with his body weight. Cullen twisted around, using the momentum of the pilot's leap, kicking out Zoe's feet from underneath her and releasing Wash into the air. The pilot was hurled over the chains of the upper gangway. He seemed to hang suspended for a moment, almost comically, but then he began his dreadful plunge through the air. He plummeted to the deck of the cargo bay below, and all the others could hear was a crash that held an awful amount of finality to it. A cry of anguish ripped from Zoe's throat as she realised what had happened, and Cullen ignored her completely as she picked herself up from the deck – not to assist the others, but to aid her husband below them. Suddenly the odds had turned against them, and though River, by now, was ready to attack the boy again, they had just lost two of their number.

Desperate, Mal and Jayne, side by side, charged along the walkway towards Cullen, and the combined size and breadth of the two men meant that it was impossible for the boy to dance around them as before. He whirled around River and retreated back along the gangway until he was stood on top of the small set of stairs, opposite the entrance to the shuttle Inara was renovating. The Captain and the mercenary stood gasping for breath at the bottom of the stairs as River stood serenely next to where Wash had been thrown from the gangway with Inara. She extended her hand without looking at the Companion.

Reverently, Inara carefully placed the hilt of the Operative's sword into River's outstretched palm, and the girl seized it competently, gazing at Cullen as she whirled the blade experimentally, growing accustomed to the weight of the weapon. She froze in a ready position, holding the sword above her head with her other hand held to the side, and then she started forward, slowly but firmly, towards the boy wreaking havoc on her life. Mal shoved Jayne to the side, and the two grown men shrank out of the way of the smaller, teenaged girl as she strode by, almost afraid to be caught in the wake of whatever she was about to do. She stopped at the foot of the stairs, and the unarmed Cullen gazed absently at her.

"Yield," River said, the blade held ready to cut the boy down.

There was a moment of silence before Cullen spoke at the same time as River. "Three minutes and twenty-nine seconds," they both said in unison, and River seemed to glean some measure of understanding from this statement. Her gaze darkened, and she brought the blade to bear.

She charged up the stairs as Cullen used the high ground to his advantage, vaulting from the side of the gangway, over River's head and between Jayne and Mal behind her. Before they could react, the boy brought their heads together, cracking their skulls against each other. They fell to the side, caught off guard, and Inara, now disarmed, moved to try and attack the lad as River turned to face him. "Back!" she barked at the Companion, her body moving like liquid as she began to whirl and lunge at Cullen, who could only duck and weave around the strikes, the blade coming within centimetres of his body with each motion.

Behind River, Jayne and Mal were up, their feet pounding up the stairs as they ran from the melee. Jayne darted left into the mess hall as Mal swerved right, the mercenary seeking the weapons he had been cleaning earlier as Mal frantically pawed at the self-destruct console, trying to deactivate the countdown, but being asked to input the correct code to do so. He snarled and punched the device in frustration, moving back outside as Jayne came back down the hallway, tossing him a rifle. The Captain snatched it out of the air and they marched purposefully towards the cargo bay as the engines began to overload, coolant seeping from the safety valves throughout the ship and alarms starting to blaze. A thick fog started to fill the air as the gas started to fill the corridors, and down in the infirmary Simon spared a glance away from his patient as he heard the alarms begin to sound.

Andrews' eyes rolled and then flickered open, his barely conscious mind forcing itself awake as he recognised the import of what was happening outside, and he began to flail about, trying to fall from the surgical table he lay on. Covered with his blood, Simon tried to pin the New Independent to the table, but despite his injuries Andrews struggled valiantly, upsetting the tray of instruments Simon had set up by the side of the table. His hand found a metallic object and he seized it, bringing it around to aim it at Simon. He held a long surgical blade, and this was enough to make Simon stop in his attempts to subdue the engineer. The doctor stepped away from the table and held his hands out in a gesture of peace.

"If I don't help you, you're going to die," said Simon. Andrews struggled and managed to sit up, his eyelids flickering, one hand holding the blade and the other holding the torn piece of Simon's shirt to his bleeding neck. He grunted with pain, even from the simple action of sitting up, and he waved towards the door, his injury rendering him incapable of speech.

Simon moved towards the door, but Andrews shook his head, fighting against unconsciousness, and this time waved Simon towards him. The doctor understood, and within a moment he was at Andrews' side, supporting the man as he tried to stand from the table. He held the surgical blade against Simon's throat, and by half-supporting, half-carrying the engineer, Simon began to move Andrews towards the door of the infirmary.

Above them, Mal and Jayne rounded the corner, hoisting their rifles onto their shoulders as Cullen vanished into the fog, forcing River to come and seek him out. Inara backed away and ran from the fighting, recognising that her only function at this point would be a hostage, and wisely withdrew from the effective range of the runaway teenager. River's sword flashed through the air, striking at where she thought Cullen might be, but he ducked and dodged the blows, sparks showering from where the fortified blade sheared through the rail at the side of the gangway. He kicked at River's side and she was forced backwards, and Cullen emerged from the toxic mist, the girl blocking any shot that Jayne or Mal might take.

Jayne leaped from the stairs, wielding his rifle like a club, but in one motion Cullen ducked underneath his strike, driving him against the bulkhead, and grabbed at River's wrist as she made another strike with her blade. He swung her around, using the motion of her attack against her, and twisted her wrist at the critical moment. Forced to relinquish her grip of the blade, the sword spun out of River's hand and soared through the air directly at Mal, who frantically dived out of the way as the sword whistled past him and embedded in the bulkhead behind where he was just standing. Cullen threw River away from him and raced up the stairs, his boot finding the barrel of Mal's rifle as he brought it to bear, forcing the aim of the weapon away as Mal fired. The slug sparked into the bulkhead and the rifle clattered away from Mal's hands.

Cullen jumped away from the Captain as Inara, having ran past Jayne and River, leapt through the air at the boy, but succeeded only in impacting against the bulkhead, but the distraction cost Cullen the advantage. Mal dived for the rifle as River mounted the stairs, her foot held high in a kick that found its mark solidly against Cullen's chest, driving the boy backwards. Relentless, River pounded her adversary with her fists, and with a final effort threw her weight against a push that drove Cullen back and into the shuttle. Mal's hands wrapped around the rifle and he swung it around, ready to fire at the teenager, but River's eyes flashed to the side and pressed the button on the console next to the hatch of the smaller craft. The door hissed closed in a flash and Mal fired, only to have the round smash into the closing hatch, a second too late from having found its mark. Cullen leapt for the closing gap of the entry, but he was too late. River depressed another switch and the docking clamps of the shuttle released in an emergency launch, and Cullen floated away from the Firefly, finally rendered harmless by the vigilant crew.

Mal picked himself up from the deck as Jayne joined the others on the upper gangway, helping Inara to stand up. The Captain's eyes were full of rage.

"I had him," he angrily told River. "Now what's he going to do? Ram us with the shuttle?" River just looked at him with the same absent expression she usually effected.

"Fifty-nine," she said, and Mal was brought back to reality in a second. He whirled, abandoning the rifle and sprinting along the hallway towards the engine room, followed by the others, but he stopped at the entrance. Simon was trying to haul almost the entire body weight of Andrews up the stairs, and he was stuck with several left to mount as the engineer held the surgical blade loosely against the doctor's throat.

"Help!" called Simon, but Andrews let the blade go, releasing what limp grip he had on it in the first place. Mal rushed to Simon's side, lifting the weight of the engineer onto his own shoulders, hauling him up the stairs and into the engine room as River looked on dispassionately.

"Thirty-one," she muttered.

"Be careful with him!" roared Simon, but Jayne blocked his entry to the engine room as Mal propped Andrews against the self destruct panel and the other members of his crew crowded around the door, anxiously looking on. The engineer moaned and coughed, blood splattering from his lips, and his skin was as drawn and pale as Mal had ever seen on another living being. His eyes rolled in their sockets but Mal tapped his cheek lightly, and they flickered open again.

"Hey. Come on," instructed Mal. "Your people put this thing on my boat, and you ain't dying before you disarm it. That's an order."

His own bodily fluids gurgling in his throat, Andrews lifted a trembling finger as the crew watched breathlessly, an oppressive silence filling the air, the only noises to be heard being the alarms declaring the imminent destruction of the ship and the hiss of the engine coolant seeping from the safety valves. He started to tap a sequence of digits into the small number pad, agonisingly slowly, and it was all Mal could do to stop himself to urge the engineer to go faster, knowing that his life was hanging by a thread in his arms.

Andrews input the final digit but the display blinked red – his hand was trembling so violently with the trauma inflicted on his body that he could not accurately press the buttons on the small input panel. He helplessly gazed at Mal, unable to tell him the code because of the damage done to his larynx, and the Captain desperately encouraged the younger man to try again as River looked on, completely unfazed by what she saw before her.

"Twelve, eleven…" she said, counting down the remaining seconds as Andrews began again. His eyes focussed entirely on the keypad, frowning with the effort of concentration, and he input each number, trying to still his shaking finger.

"Seven, six…"

The engines began to emit a high-pitched whine as they began to approach critical mass. Andrews grunted and redoubled his already gargantuan efforts, his bloodied finger depressing each button in turn, and he completed the sequence as the engines reached a crescendo.

"Three, two…"

The control panel blinked green, and River stopped enunciating words as the engines were released from their grip of destruction, the whining easing away from the critical point they almost reached. Coolant still poured from the safety valves, but at a lesser degree, and the gathered crew breathed a sigh of relief as disaster was averted.

Mal's eyes met Andrews' as the engineer coughed on the blood forming in his throat, seeking some kind of affirmation from the older man. Mal had never seen eye-to-eye with Andrews, and disagreed with everything the New Independents stood for, but he still had a small amount of compassion still locked up inside of him. He smiled at the engineer.

"You did good, kid," he said as Simon barrelled into the engine room, yelling for aid. Jayne met him, and together they scooped up Andrews and began to haul him down to the infirmary, but Mal knew it was too late for the man almost as much as Simon did. He had lost too much blood, and the trauma of disarming the ship had been too much for him.

River stood in Simon's way, blocking their path. "Get out of the way, mei mei," he instructed, but the girl didn't move. She drew close to Andrews as his breath grew weaker and weaker, and she whispered into his ear.

"You see?" she asked. "You saved our lives."

Andrews' mind eased back into the past, and his fading synapses were filled with the image of sitting on a hillside, having just been rescued from the Alliance's custody by River, who stood before him as he rested against a tree. She was looking out at the landscape that stretched before her, the sky filled with a glorious night, and she was contemplating the many paths that lay before them, trying to find a way to navigate them without getting anyone hurt. Her mind saw beyond the simple physical world, and for a moment Andrews thought he could see it, too. All of the infinite possibilities that led from this moment to the next, each second of time a universe of potential.

He had asked River what his path was, and she had replied that it was his destiny to save all of the people he had found himself travelling with. He had fulfilled that destiny, and as he stood to join the younger girl in his mind's eye, looking out onto the landscape beneath them alongside her, he knew that, among all of those possibilities he could almost see, that there was a chance that this would not be the end. That his spirit would find a new home, and that his experiences would not finish, here, in the corridor of this Firefly.

He smiled, hope swelling within him, and as his last breath eased from his body, his spirit was at peace with the knowledge of his death. He had saved everyone – he was the hero, this time. And then the world slipped away from Daniel Andrews, and then he was dead.

Simon gazed helplessly at the body of the man held in his arms, his mind telling him that there was nothing he could have done even had he returned Andrews to the infirmary, but his heart telling him that he should have tried harder. Mal looked on from where he still knelt in the engine room, Andrews' blood staining his hands, and he allowed himself a moment of remorse upon the engineer's passing. No matter how Mal felt towards him, no one deserved to die like that.

But the tranquil moment was shattered as Zoe's voice called for aid from down below, and Simon and Jayne lay the body of Andrews gently on the deck before hurrying down the stairs. In the heat of the moment, they had all forgotten about Wash.

But as they rounded the corner to the infirmary, all they could see was Zoe fussing over the form of her husband, who looked completely normal. He tried to force her away good-naturedly, but Zoe was frantic, assessing his body for damage.

"Can someone help me with this crazy lady?" he asked with humour in his voice as Jayne frowned at the pilot.

"Shouldn't you be dead?" He thought about it. "Again?"

"That was a mighty fall you took, Wash," added Mal, looking equally concerned. "Maybe you should get the young doctor to check you over."

"You see?" asked Zoe, doubtlessly having told Wash this a dozen times, and he held his hands out in resignation.

"Sure, fine, okay. I'll get a check-up, but I'm telling you, I'm fine. Must've hit an invisible stack of hay on my way down."

A subdued Simon led the way into the infirmary, Zoe and Wash trailing behind him, leaving the others to gather in the common area outside. Inara looked at Mal, concerned.

"You look worried," she said. "Shouldn't you be happy? We just saved the ship. Is it Andrews?"

Mal's eyes automatically flickered to the deck, where the pool of Andrews' blood still gathered. But he shook his head.

"No. Somethin' else."

Inara groaned. "Always something else, isn't it?" she asked, trying to lighten the moment, but Mal's face was grim.

"It's the coolant," informed Jayne, in a rare event having reached the same conclusion as Mal. The Captain nodded, looking about at the layer of smog in the air.

Inara was confused. "What about it?" she asked.

"It mixes with the air," said Mal. "And over time, it's poisonous. Those safety valves only go off when it means a straight choice between lettin' the engine blow up or floodin' the corridors with that gas. If it means savin' the crew now, even if it might mean killin' them later."

"So?" asked the Companion, still not getting it. "Poisonous compounds must get mixed with the air all of the time in space. That's why we have the air reclamation system, right?"

"So, the stuff is so industrial that the air scrubbers can't clean it," said Mal. "It mixes with the air, and they can't get rid of it. On top of that, we lost a lot of oxygen when our runaway passenger blew the airlock. I'm sayin' that we're soon gonna choke to death on fumes."

Jayne nodded grimly as the reality of the situation hit Inara.

"But can't we go and get some more air?" she asked.

"We're pretty far out," said Jayne. "And if we wanna make our deadline with the Alliance…"

Mal shrugged. "It's a choice between gettin' more air, but then missin' the deadline and probably gettin' blown up by the Alliance," said Mal. "So yeah, I'm glad we saved the ship. But it looks like we're still screwed either way."

They stood silently for a few moments, each thinking about the implications of their new situation, before Mal shook himself out of it enough to direct the others.

"Inara, go find River. Looks like she wandered off in all the excitement, and I need everyone together. Jayne…go see what you can do 'bout Andrews. Put him somewhere so we can give him a burial later. Figure it's the least we can do, him savin' us and all."

Jayne grunted and Inara nodded, each heading away to fulfil their orders. "Least there's one less body suckin' in oxygen around here," muttered Jayne as he left.

In the infirmary, Wash was sitting on the examination table, his sleeves rolled up as Simon puttered about, gathering instruments that had been scattered about the room during the battle earlier. Zoe's arm was held around Wash's shoulders, and her face was filled with happiness.

"I thought I'd lost you again, baby," she said, a note of fear in her voice as Simon gathered the remainder of his tools. Wash smiled and kissed his wife.

"I'm not going anywhere, honey," he replied. "I don't know what's going on around here, but we'll figure it out, I promise. And then everything will be okay."

Simon stood in front of the pair. "I'm ready when you are," he said, and the married couple nodded. Simon picked up a syringe and readied it for use. "Although you've been back for a few days, I haven't given you a general check-up," said Simon, "So I'll do that now. The first thing I'll need is a sample of your blood."

He wrapped an elastic band around Wash's elbow to prepare the vein as the pilot spoke. "No problem with me, Doc," said Wash. Zoe frowned at him.

"I thought you hated needles," she said, puzzled, and Wash shrugged as Simon picked up the syringe, setting it against Wash's arm.

"I don't mind them," he said as Simon slid the needle into his flesh. "See? I'm an unfazed, manly man. I have no fear of such small pointy objects."

Zoe smiled, and the pair were engaged in such a display of marital bliss that neither of them saw Simon frown and then gape at the syringe in his hands. He withdrew the needle, detached the contained holding the blood and concealed it in his pocket quickly. He held a small cotton ball against Wash's vein and placed the pilot's other hand against it.

"Hold this here," he said, subdued. Wash nodded and held the cotton ball dutifully, but Zoe was more observant.

"What's wrong?" she asked, and Simon shook his head.

"Wrong? Nothing wrong. Nothing at all," he said, edging towards the door. "I, uh…I'll be right back." He turned and hurried out of the infirmary as Wash frowned after the vanishing man.

"Odd fish," he commented as Zoe stared uncertainly.

Simon hurried up the stairs and emerged in the mess hall, where Mal was assembling the scattered pieces of weaponry that Jayne had been cleaning before Cullen's attack. "Captain," he said, and Mal looked up, managing to look amused despite everything that was happening.

"What is it now, Doctor?" he asked, but the look on Simon's face froze his expression. He looked concerned as Simon drew closer. "Everything all right?" he asked.

"It's Wash," said Simon.

"What about him?"

"He's… I don't know how to… Well, I know how, but…"

"Doctor!" said Mal, snapping him out of his rambling commentary. "Just tell me what the problem is."

Simon produced the vial from his pocket and held it up for Mal to see. It was filled with a milky white liquid, and Mal could only shrug as he regarded it.

"What am I looking at?" he asked.

"It was inside him," said Simon. "This is his blood. This is what powers him." As Mal began to understand the reason Simon was so upset, he was still confused as to the exact nature of the problem.

"I don't…" he started, but Simon finally said exactly what the matter was.

"That isn't Wash," said Simon. "He's a synthetic."


	29. Day Twelve: Hopes and Fears

**Day Twelve**

**Hopes and Fears**

"A what?" asked Mal, but he was distracted by a motion behind him. He turned to see Zoe standing in the doorway of the mess hall, a distraught look on her face. Simon moved to try and mollify her, but she ran away towards the bunks. She descended into her room and the two men heard a distinctive click as the hatch was locked.

Mal sighed and sat at the table. "Always something else, ain't there?" he asked and Simon could only nod in silent agreement.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"We got three problems," said Mal, standing at the head of a hastily assembled conference at the mess hall table. Conspicuously absent were Zoe and Wash. "One – we're gonna slowly choke to death. Two – we can't go anywhere except our destination, Paquin, because we're gonna run out of time before the Operative's deadline expires. Three – turns out that Wash isn't Wash."

This caused a stir. "What do you mean?" demanded Jayne, and Simon leaned forward to field the question.

"He's a synthetic," he said. Inara frowned.

"I thought they were made illegal decades ago," she said, but Mal shrugged.

"As if that's stopped the Alliance doing anything before now," the Captain commented and Inara conceded the point. Jayne was still confused, however.

"He's a what?"

"A synthetic," repeated Simon. "Essentially, a robot."

"He's a machine?" exclaimed Jayne, and Simon had to nod.

"Yes. A very convincing, very sophisticated robot, but a robot nonetheless," he said.

"Which makes things complicated," said Mal. "As we all know, you don't have to be a machine to be programmed by the Alliance, but it makes things easier for them. Now we got a robot sittin' in the infirmary, sent to us by the Operative. God knows what's stored in its head."

Jayne slammed a hand against the table triumphantly. "I _knew_ there was somethin' up with him comin' back," he crowed. "I _told_ you all."

"That you did, Jayne, and we congratulate you for that," said Mal. "Question is, what do we do about it?"

"Space it," said Jayne instantly, and Simon reacted badly to the statement.

"You can't just…" he said. "He's a sentient being. You can't just unilaterally decide to get rid of him, he has rights!"

Mal shrugged. "Far as I know, human rights only affect humans. And even those rights are stretched mighty thin out here in the Black, even for people."

Simon folded his arms resolutely. "I don't care about that. If you space him, then you can space me too. I won't have the cold-blooded murder of another being on my hands. Whether he's human or not."

"I got no problem with that," said Jayne, but the Captain ignored him.

"I haven't decided what to do with it yet," said Mal, but then Inara made a disturbing statement.

"Has anyone told Wash about this?" she asked, and the question was met with silence for a few moments.

"Zoe knows," said Simon. "By accident, unfortunately."

"Then I'd say that's our first course of action," she said primly, looking pointedly at Jayne. "Maybe some of us will change our tune when we don't dole out judgements to someone who isn't in the same room as us."

"I doubt it," said Jayne acidly, and Mal intervened.

"I'd love to indulge everyone on this, but we don't have time. We are runnin' out of air, fast, and we've got a deadline to make before we're all blown up."

"There's no way to purify the air we already have?" asked Simon, and Mal shook his head.

"The coolant that got released is too thick – and I mean chemically thick – for the scrubbers to clean it. It's gonna stay in the air until it poisons us to death."

"At least we won't suffocate," muttered Inara.

"In that case we only have a few hours before we're all dead," said Simon blandly. "How far are we from the planet the Operative sent us to?"

"Too far," replied Mal. "I'll put it like this – we gotta think of a way to keep ourselves alive long enough to make the journey to our final destination without stopping for air first. When we reach Paquin we can open up the windows and let new oxygen in, cleansing our system from the coolant."

"Can't scrub the air, can't get new air," said Inara. "So we're stuck with the air we have."

"And it's filled with pollution," said Mal. "Courtesy of our old pal Cullen Sheridan."

"Quite the conundrum," said Inara, but her mind was already working on a solution. She did not share it with the others at this time, however. Instead she rose from her seat. "I'll tell him," she said, referring to Wash. "After all, half of the people sat here want to kill him."

The Companion left the room as the others stood from the table.

"Jayne, get these guns put back together," instructed Mal. "It's what got us in trouble last time. If we'd had the arsenal we could'a put down the boy sooner. Probably why he attacked when he did." He looked at Simon. "Speaking of which, where's your sister? I should thank her for saving our collective asses."

Simon shrugged. "Ah…I'm not sure, in all the excitement. I'll go and find her. I'll try and assess the worst affected parts of the ship, in terms of pollution." The doctor left, and Jayne began his task of assembling their scattered weapons. Mal set his shoulders and walked towards the crew quarters. He had a hard conversation in front of him.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

It was ten minutes later before Zoe even unlocked the hatch to her room, and when Mal descended into the bunk his eyes were met with destruction. Zoe had gone on a rampage, scattering the contents of her room to the wind. Now, though, she sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the deck, her face empty. Mal carefully stepped through the mess and sat beside his first mate.

He lost track of how long he sat there before she spoke.

"Thanks," she said.

"For what?"

She almost snorted with derision. "Not asking if I'm alright."

Mal shrugged. "Figured you're a little beyond alright at this point. You wanna talk about it?"

She shook her head, numb. "No. It's just…" She looked further into the distance. "I thought I got him back. I opened up to…that _thing_. Whatever it is pretending to be him. Defiling his memory." She turned to Mal. "I'll kill it, next time I see it."

"If Jayne doesn't beat you to it."

She stood up bolt upright, fire flashing in her eyes. "_No,_" she said vehemently. "If anyone's gonna space it, then it's me."

Mal spread his hands in surrender. "Hey, you're not gettin' any arguments from me. Far as I'm concerned, it's another present from the Operative. God knows what she programmed it to do. What I'm worried about more is…well, you."

Zoe's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Mal stood and started to pace towards the ladder. "When Wash died…I thought you died too. Part of you that mattered, anyhow. You did your job, you've been there for me…well, most of the time anyway. And when you thought he came back the old Zoe did too. Trouble is, now you know it's not him, I don't want you to fall further away. I guess what I'm tryin' to say is…don't do it alone, all right? You've got people here who you can count on. You don't have to be warrior woman all of the gorram time."

She cocked her head at him. "Anything else?" she asked coldly. Mal looked about him at the bunk as he realised something.

"Yeah." He waved his hand through the air. "Not so foggy in here, is it?"

"What's that got to do with…?" asked Zoe, before she realised what he meant. They quickly exited the bunk.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"They're on a separate circuit," said Mal triumphantly, pointing at the innards of the ship in the engine room. Zoe looked over his shoulder and nodded in agreement.

"I could'a told you that," she said, and Mal looked at her pointedly.

"You were locked in your bunk at the time," he chided. He directed his attention back to the air reclamation system. "In case of an emergency, the circuits are separated in case the crew has to take refuge in their bunks. That way, they can lock themselves inside and survive even if the rest of the ship is in a vacuum. And if the seals on their bunks hold. The contaminated air hasn't gotten into the bunks yet, so it ain't in that circuit, it's just here in the main one."

Zoe shrugged. "I know all this," she said. "Why are you telling me?"

"I'm thinkin' out loud, ain't I?" replied Mal, and Zoe threw her hands out to the side in exasperation.

"Fine. So what have you come up with?"

"Well, that we can all survive on the remaining air we have if we stay in our bunks. This is good news. Try to look happy."

"Just one problem in your plan," said Zoe. "Who's gonna fly the ship? There's a debris field in between us and our destination if I recall."

Mal drew a breath to reply, but found that he lacked any substance to put voice to. "Uh… Well, that there's a problem that we should probably address."

Zoe nodded and turned away. Mal called to her receding form.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"Back to my bunk. Sounds like the best place for me at the minute, right?"

Mal frowned at his first mate as she disappeared, but he was distracted from his thoughts as Simon walked past.

"Oh, hey, Doc," said the Captain. "Good news. Turns out there's enough air for us in our bunks if we all stay there. The air processing system is on a separate circuit to the main one, and none of this smoke can get in if we lock up the bunks."

Simon processed this information. "Who will fly the ship if we're all locked in our rooms?" he asked, and Mal grimaced.

"People keep sayin' that. I'm workin' on it. Did you find River?"

Simon nodded. "Yes. She's resting now. I think our battle with her peer got to her."

"Yeah, that's gotta be tough. They're as close a thing to school friends as either of them will ever have."

"Is Zoe all right?"

Mal shrugged. "As all right as anyone can be, considering." He set his shoulders. "Well. No time like the present. I guess we should go talk to our faux Wash."

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

In the infirmary, Inara sat opposite Wash – or the replica of him. He was sitting staring at the deck, lost in a trance of numbing proportion.

"Wow," was all he said. He held the vial of milky white fluid between his fingers – proof of what he was. He had watched Inara draw it from him just moments earlier.

Inara found that she was often assigned the task of difficult conversations, even more so before her time on Serenity. She seemed to have a knack of handling people when they were vulnerable, even for a Companion. She gazed at him as reassuringly as possible, but despite her experience of these kinds of discussions, she was at a loss for what to say to him. It wasn't like she told someone they weren't even human every day.

"But how?" Was the next thing he said, breaking from his trance to stare at Inara. There was no anger in him, just an almost childlike confusion. "How did they do it? I mean…I guess there's no getting away from it. I'm not me. But how did the Alliance pull something like this off? I was never in the military, I spent a lot of time on the Rim…"

Inara had given this some thought, and was reasonably sure she knew the answer. "About a year ago, we came across a ship that had been attacked by Reavers, and the Captain tried to make off with its cargo. Unluckily for him, the Alliance arrived at the derelict and confiscated the stolen cargo, however the commander of the ship was on a witch hunt for Simon and River, and he exhaustively interviewed every member of the crew, including you…well, the other you."

"The real me, you mean," said Wash, his voice filled with self-disgust, but Inara shook her head.

"No. The other you. You're real. You occupy a point in both space and time. You're self-aware. You're capable of thought. You go by the same name as the man who flew Serenity."

"If you say so," said Wash dejectedly. "So you think that interview is when they made me?"

"In part. Everything the Alliance encounters is logged and stored somewhere. Wash was…well, he could be very outgoing at times. Likely they compiled enough data to make a rudimentary copy of his personality, and uploaded it into you. And as for your physical appearance, the technology to manufacture synthetics has existed for many decades. They were made illegal quite some time ago, but the Alliance has repeatedly proven that they are willing to bend, if not break, any law in order to meet its own ends."

"What about Zoe?" asked the entity masquerading as Wash. "I…I think I love her…if something like me can know what love is. I remember that I care for her…and some parts of our relationship, but…"

"I were you, I'd stay away from Zoe for now," said Mal, entering the infirmary. Simon trailed in behind him. "You might not live through the encounter."

Wash nodded, crushed, and Inara looked to Mal.

"I think I may have a solution to our problem," she said, and he smiled.

"I was just about to say the same thing," said Mal. Inara gestured generously.

"By all means, after you," she said.

"Air circuits for the bunks are on a separate system. The junk polluting the air down here ain't up there. If we lock ourselves in, we can make it long enough to arrive at where we're headed."

Inara nodded. "Sounds like a plan," she said.

Mal frowned. "Aren't you gonna point out that no one can fly the ship if we're all locked up in our rooms?"

"No. Because I know someone who has many hours of flight time piloting a Firefly, and who doesn't need to breathe."

There was a moment of confusion before the men gathered around the Companion realised what she meant.

"No," said Mal. "You gotta be kidding. There's no telling what it's been programmed to do." He glanced at Wash. "No offence," he added.

"Oh, none taken, Mal," Wash retorted. Inara stood and ushered Mal outside, leaving Simon to tend to the familiar stranger.

"I know you don't like it," said Inara. "But there's no other choice."

Mal bristled. "Don't tell me there's no other choice," he said sternly. "There's no other choice unless I say there's none other."

Inara sighed, exasperated. "Don't start this old routine, Mal," she chided. "There's no time. You say there's a way to save us, but you're short someone to fly us to where we're going. I'm pointing out that there's someone who won't be fatally poisoned by the smog hanging in the air, who can fly."

Mal pointed a finger at Inara. "Don't know if it can fly," he said. "It just looks like Wash."

"Well let's try," said Inara. "I understand your concerns. I faced that Operative with you – I know first hand what she's capable of. But this was the end of her scheme. Once we get to where we're going, that's the end of the line for us. She said so in her last message to you. Why would she need to place further traps? Our usefulness only lasts for less than two more days. Why would she plan beyond that?"

"Maybe she programmed it to kill us once we get to the end of the line," said Mal.

"Exactly – after we get there. That's not now, is it? In fact, if anything, Wash has been programmed to do everything in his power to aid us, because if the Operative has planted him, then he would want her scheme to succeed. In that instance, I can't think of anyone better to fly us. Unless you wanted to sacrifice someone else piloting the ship? Yourself, maybe?"

Mal refused to admit that, in fact, that had been his plan should they fail to find any alternatives, and forced himself to concede to Inara's logic.

"I guess you're right," he admitted reluctantly. "We need to get going sharpish if we want to make her deadline. Don't wanna get blown up – I'm sure a few Alliance ships are lurking out there, keepin' an eye on us. Guess there's nothin' left to do but head for Paquin and see what the end of all this looks like."

Inara regarded him gravely. "All joking aside, Mal…what do you think we're meant to do when we get to Paquin? How do we fit in with Project Nightmare?"

Mal looked pensive. "I've given a lot of thought to that," he said. "And I got nothin'. But a lot of people have died, more hurt, so it better be worth it in the end. It better be something so big that when it backfires on them, it destroys them completely."

The pair moved away and began to implement their plan, and within ten minutes the crew had been stowed into their bunks, with the synthetic, though independently sentient, version of Wash sat at the pilot's seat – feeling that he was taking up his rightful place and sitting there for the first time all at once. The small Firefly fired up its engines, and it began its long journey to Paquin, where the fates of everyone aboard would be decided.

But following the trail of the ship back, one would find one of the vessel's shuttles floating, derelict, in space, a sole inhabitant waiting on board it. Cullen Sheridan sat, staring absently out of the viewport, his mission failed and waiting for further instructions.

Another ship approached the shuttle – barely larger than the Firefly that had abandoned Sheridan to the vast, it too held a single occupant. The Rogue manoeuvred his ship to dock with the shuttle, and once the seal between the two objects had been broken, the fallen Alliance agent stepped aboard.

He was a shadow of his former self. In the three days that had passed since his final encounter with his sworn adversary, the Operative, he had barely slept, awaking in the rubble of the shattered building high above Mithras to the terrible reality that he had just witnessed the murder of his only child, and that it hadn't been one astounding hallucination.

He paced along the deck of the darkened shuttle to the youth, who was sat on the only bench placed in the Firefly's shuttle, gazing with hooded eyes out into the abyss. The Rogue sat beside the youngster and joined him in his silent observation.

"Big, isn't it?" he asked, referring to the vacuum. His face was drawn, and his eyes were heavyset with the shadows hanging beneath each. He hadn't shaved since his time on Londinium. Cullen didn't register his existence.

The Rogue sighed and produced a small optical device. He aimed it at Cullen's face and depressed the button at the side. Intense beams of light flickered into Cullen's eyes, varying in their intensity by the millisecond, and the pulses of light drove deep into his mind, rewriting the directives that had been implanted there previously. After several seconds he gasped, as if coming up for air after a long time spent underwater, and staggered back from the bench, clawing at his eyes.

The Rogue set the device at his side on the bench and folded his hands meditatively. "Don't panic," he said calmly, and speaking informed Cullen of his presence. The teenager looked up, shaken from his fit, and shrank back from the form of the Rogue, who sat with his back to the boy, shrouded in darkness.

"Who are you?" demanded the boy, afraid, but when the Rogue made no obvious move to pursue the younger man Cullen began to breath more easily.

"I am no one," said the Rogue. "I used to think that I was one thing, but then I discovered that I never was all along, and any chance to retrieve the shell of my self-deception had been destroyed."

Cullen absorbed this for a moment, and then snorted. "Could you be any vaguer?" he asked, but his sarcasm died as the Rogue turned to face him.

"Who are you?" asked the Rogue in a quiet voice.

"I'm…Cullen Sheridan. My father is quite influential where I come from, you know, so you might want to think twice about…"

The Rogue turned back to face the stars beyond the shuttle.

"Incorrect," he said, silencing the boy.

Despite his fear, Cullen felt a flash of indignation. "What? What are you talking about?"

"Like I was, you are something that you are not. You perceive yourself to be one thing while you exist as something rather different – however, unlike me, yours is a delusion forced upon you, while I fooled only myself."

"So what _am_ I, then?"

Then the Rogue smiled. "Unfortunately, the knowledge of what you truly are may destroy you," he said in that same quiet tone. "The process of my awakening was almost the end of me." He stood up from the bench, and on reflex Cullen shied away, but the Rogue made no move to come close to the teenager. He paced around the bench and faced the youngster, still enveloped in darkness. "Are you ready?" the former Alliance agent asked.

"For what?" asked Cullen, starting to feel more nervous.

"For everything you think you are to be stripped away, leaving only the pitiful remnants of your life for you to gather and hoard together, as a peasant gathers scraps of food to try and sustain himself. For your life to end, leaving you with nothing but despair, and anger, and the deepest regret to drive you on."

Something in the older man's voice had driven the derision from Cullen, and he stood transfixed by the Rogue. "Yes," he whispered in a small voice. "I want this to stop. I want to know why I keep appearing in places and can't remember how I got there. I want people to stop looking at me with fear hidden in their eyes. I want to stop being the only one who doesn't know what I really am."

The Rogue picked up the optical device, adjusted its setting, and aimed it at the youth once again.

"Then I'm sorry, Cullen Sheridan, to be the one to have to kill you."

He pressed the button, and once again the beams of light streamed from the device and into Cullen's eyes. The light passed beyond mere physicality, penetrating Cullen's deepest thoughts, shattering the restrictions placed upon him and eliminating the false memories implanted in his mind, allowing the boy to remember what had really happened to him as he grew up inside the same Academy that River had attended. The sudden reclamation of years of torture, and physical and mental programming all at once was ripped from Cullen as a howl – a terrible, despairing sound that yawned almost as wide as the endless void of space hanging outside the viewport. He fell to his knees, his howl coming to an end, as the Rogue watched, no emotion passing his face.

"I thought I was a man in control of the universe," he said quietly in the silence that existed after the manifestation of Cullen's grief. "I thought that nothing could touch me. I volunteered to be an Operative, but I survived with part of my personality intact. Because I knew that my son was still out there, hidden from the Alliance, I felt that a part of myself was at large, forever protected from them. But when I found him again…I saw how far the gap between us had yawned. Because I had no sense of comparison to anyone, I had slipped further and further into what they wanted me to be, away from my son, and away from myself. I saw that there was no chance I would ever become the man I was, and thought I would be again.

"Because, underneath it all, I somehow felt that one day it would end. That I would outlive the Alliance, and what they had made me become, and that I would eventually be able to return to what I once was and scoff at the audacity of the Alliance in thinking that they could make me change. But my foolish pride, my arrogance, failed to allow me to register one, simple truth. That I will never live to see that day. That I am mortal, and imperfect. That I cannot outlive something that is not flesh.

"I saw all of that in the moment that my son died in front of my eyes. I wanted to exact my vengeance upon the man who had performed the physical act, but my rage, having carried me so far, was unable to extend the vast length of including the thirst for revenge for that most heinous of acts. I realise now that while I did not pull the trigger, I was the one who killed my son. I have been as bad a father as any man could fear to be, and I did it with pride in my heart.

"But for all that I was responsible for Roderick's demise, there is something else, shadowy and sinister, that forces these people into situations such as the ones I have experienced lately. That reaches forth with tendrils and hurts people, and kills people, and I'm not sure which one of them is worse."

"The Alliance," groaned Cullen from the deck. The words needed to be spat from his lips through the pain gripping him, but he found the strength to look up at the Rogue, who nodded.

"Yes. The Alliance has wrought terrible damage to both of us, Cullen. It has twisted us into things humans were never supposed to be. It forced the people who killed my son into their current situation. It seizes hold of people's hopes and fears, and it does not let go until all that remains of the person is a shell. I go to put an end to the Alliance, and I hope that you will accompany me, Cullen."

"You did this," spat Cullen, his eyes filled with anger and pain. "You're why I'm here."

The Rogue nodded. "Yes. I put you with Reynolds and the others as insurance. In case my plans for them failed, you were to be activated, killing everyone on the ship. I will not insult you by apologising for that. But you must look past my actions at the source. The Alliance is at the root of all of man's evil."

"Take some responsibility," hissed the youngster, and the Rogue nodded.

"I don't pretend that I am not responsible for what happened to you. But you were just a weapon to me. To be utilised as a pistol, or a sword. The Alliance made you what you are. They hollowed you out and filled you with their thoughts, their dogma, and patched you back together as if you were a real boy. But you aren't, Cullen. Nothing in your life is as you remembered it, and they are to blame for that."

He drew his sword in a fluid motion, and presented it hilt first to the teenager.

"But…if you feel as though you have to punish me for my actions, then do so. I won't try to stop you."

Cullen stared at the blade for a moment before he seized it with one shaking hand. With the other he picked himself up off the deck and stood uneasily on his feet. His eyes were locked with the Rogue's, who met his gaze fearlessly.

The teenager whirled the blade around him with devastating adeptness, and then struck out at the Rogue. The sword slid across the man's cheek, the edge raking his skin a millimetre deep on the left side. The Rogue winced as the metal dug into his skin, and Cullen glared at him with his shining green eyes.

"We're both weapons," he said. "Now that I know everything they programmed into me, I know everything I'm capable of doing. What they made me into. But you chose to use me, as I choose to wield this blade. If I strike you down with it, then I can't blame who made the sword. It will have been me who killed."

The Rogue stared back at him, his eyes burning blue. "But the sword can't take up dispute about having been forced to kill afterwards," he said. "You can, and are. That is your basic human right. That is why you feel so angry about it – that you were so callously used without regard to your own individuality. But who forged you, Cullen? Who made you less than human? Who took away those basic rights that we, as people, should be able to enjoy?"

Tears shone in Cullen's eyes as he held the blade steady against the older man's cheek. "The Alliance did," he said in a shaking voice.

"That's right. And they made me what I am today – into the man who used you so thoughtlessly. That's why they need to be made to pay. So they can't hurt anyone else the way they hurt us."

"And who will make you pay?" asked Cullen, grimacing as if another blade were being jabbed into his gut.

"The universe has a way of balancing things out in the end," said the Rogue gently. "And remember, Cullen, it was me who woke you up to the lies. I'm trying to make it up to you, Cullen. You just have to meet me partway."

Suddenly the teenager threw aside the blade and balled his hands into fists. "I want it back!" he roared at the ceiling, trying desperately to fill the yawning void inside of him with something, anything. "I want what they took from me back!"

"You can't, Cullen," said the Rogue with a genuine note of pity in his voice. "It's gone, forever. They took it from you, and now it's gone."

"Help me," pleaded the teenager. "It's more than I can bear. Take away this emptiness inside of me."

"I'll help you," promised the Rogue. "And then you can help me. I have a plan that will bring the entire Alliance to its knees. And you're going to help me enact it."

Captivated by the Rogue, Cullen stared at him with beseeching eyes. "Tell me what to do," he said.

"All in good time," said the Rogue. "But the first step is Project Nightmare. It's the key to everything that's been going on."

"You're going to stop it?"

The Rogue shook his head. "No. It's too late for that. Reynolds and the others are already on their way to complete the Project, and if I destroyed them then they'd only get another group to replace them. It's better to deal with people who are already familiar, if it can be helped."

"Then what?"

"The plan is to allow the Alliance to complete Project Nightmare. After that, things will be so chaotic across the system that it will be easy to navigate the corridors of power without worrying about being detected."

"Do you know what it is?" asked Cullen, still suffering greatly. "Project Nightmare?"

"No. Not exactly. But I can take an educated guess," said the Rogue. "The production of these creatures for a specified goal, and the interest in Reynolds. The way they're steering him towards a specific point."

"And what will you want from me?"

"For the next day, nothing but your attempts to recover from your ordeal here. After that, Reynolds gets to Paquin, and everything changes."

Not far from the docked shuttles, the unnamed Firefly sped towards Paquin with its precious cargo, to where it would all end.


	30. Day Thirteen: End of the Line

**Day Thirteen**

**End Of The Line**

The Firefly sank into the atmosphere of Paquin, and the air filtration vents on the exterior of the ship opened up, filling the ship inside with clean oxygen, and depositing the soiled air outside. A poisonous trail of smog hung after the Firefly as the last of the engine coolant was purged from the environment inside, and the crew within sprang from their rooms and up onto the bridge.

Jayne breathed heavily as he joined the others gathering on the control deck of the ship. "That's nice," he said satisfactorily as he took in the sight of the planet coming up fast from below them. Wash sat in the pilot seat, carefully monitoring the instruments around him.

"How do you think I feel, stuck up here for nearly a day?" he asked.

"You don't breathe," remarked Jayne pointedly, and dismissed the pilot. "So what's the plan?" he asked Mal.

"We set down, take a look around," said Mal, who was analysing the surface of the planet below them. "There's only a few major settlements here, but it's organised enough that someone might've seen something that's amiss."

"Maybe we should just ask people at random if they've heard of Project Nightmare and see what happens?" asked Inara, a trace of sarcasm in her voice, but Mal ignored her.

"Wash, why don't you head for Manitoba, it's got the largest population, if anyone _has_ seen…"

He trailed off as an alarm started to blare on the console.

"What is it?" snapped Jayne, and the synthetic Wash, who had evidently been programmed with the knowledge of how to fly a Firefly, flipped the switch that would silence the alert.

"Weapons lock," said the pilot. "Someone out there doesn't want us to…"

Something large and black streaked past the forward viewer, leaving a trail of smoke behind it.

"Ai ya!" exclaimed Jayne. "What was that?"

"Air to air missile," said Mal, as the form of an Alliance heavy fighter swept in front of them in an escort position. "Don't worry, Jayne, I'd say they missed on purpose. The Alliance generally has better tech on their ships than we do."

"They also have guns on their ships, which we don't," pointed out Jayne, but nothing more could be said because the comm hissed to life.

"Firefly class vessel, you are hereby ordered to the port at Manitoba. Any deviation from the flight path we are transmitting to you will be met with strict reprisal. This is your final warning."

"First warning, too…" muttered Simon as Mal picked up the mic to reply.

"Confirmed, Alliance patrol, we ain't lookin' for any trouble," said Mal, and replaced the mic back in its holder. He stood staring out of the forward screen with his arms folded while the others waited expectantly.

"Now what?" asked Wash finally.

Mal shrugged. "Follow the course and don't deviate. We're headed the same way we were gonna go in the first place, and we didn't even have to land to get our first clue that somethin' is up. I'd say it's a good start for us, people."

"That's less than reassuring," commented Inara, but all they could do was watch uneasily as the ship approached the port.

As the vessel began its final approach, the comm hissed to life once again.

"_Prepare your crew for inspection in the cargo bay,"_ instructed the same voice as before. _"Once you make your landing, you will open the rear bay doors and prepare for a full vessel search. Any deviation from these instructions will be met with strict reprisal."_

Mal looked at the others almost cheerfully. "You heard the man. Everyone back into the bay. Wash, make the landing and then come meet us in the back. Someone get Zoe on the way."

The first mate had been noticeably absent during their entire time on the bridge, and nobody mentioned the obvious reason that she was avoiding the android impersonator of her husband.

The crew gathered in the cargo bay, and as soon as they touched down Mal had Jayne activate the ramp that would allow access onto the ship. The rear access slid open, and immediately after the outer edge hit the dirt of the planet they had just landed on, a rush of activity fed into the ship as heavily armed Alliance soldiers poured onboard.

Before anyone had a chance to realise what was even happening, the crew had been subdued at gunpoint and forced onto their knees, their hands placed firmly on their heads. Soldiers swarmed around the cargo bay, looking around every corner and into every dark place, securing the vessel efficiently and emotionlessly. The troops filtered out beyond the cavernous cargo bay as the soldiers' commanding officer stepped onto the ship. He was a slightly older man, but mostly unremarkable in appearance. Mal had encountered his kind before – after all, Alliance patrols on the edge of space were usually his most frequent encounter with the political authority.

"Who's in command here?" he asked, and Mal spoke up.

"That'd be me," he replied. "What's your quarrel with us?"

"There's no quarrel," answered the CO, but before he could say anything else a disturbance above distracted him. Wash had surprised a few of the soldiers as he began his walk from the cockpit to the cargo bay, and they were bundling him roughly the rest of the way.

The CO's eyes narrowed as he glared back at Mal. "You were instructed to gather all of your crew here for inspection," he hissed, and Mal found the resolve to shrug.

"He's the pilot. Ship ain't gonna land itself. Now what's the meaning of all of this?"

The CO's radio crackled to life. _"Sir, we have encountered a locked door leading to the ship's only shuttle. We are bypassing the lock now."_

"Hiding something?" asked the CO.

"Tell your men not to open that door," said Mal, knowing what was inside.

"Why? Something damaging to you inside?"

"Not gonna be damaging to me," said the Captain, thinking of the hulking creature they had named Oaty.

"_We have bypassed the lock, opening the door now,_" said the soldier on the other end of the radio.

The CO waited expectantly for a few moments, but nothing else was said. Mal exchanged a meaningful look with Simon.

"Morse, respond," said the CO into the radio, but nothing more returned over the device. He waved at the group of men stood behind him, and a group of six men filtered up the stairs of the cargo bay towards the shuttle.

"What have you got in there?" demanded the soldiers' superior, but Mal wouldn't reply. After a moment or two more, a blood-curdling scream shattered the eerie silence, and several gunshots rang out from above. The CO took an involuntary step back towards the rear ramp and spoke into his radio again. "Seabrook! Morse! Anyone up there, respond!"

But there was only silence again. Thoroughly unnerved, the CO waved his remaining troops together and they gathered around him near to the exit of the ship.

They clustered nervously, looking at each other to maintain a semblance of calm, but then that was shattered as a dead body was hurled with great force into the far bulkhead from the upper gangway, followed by the visage of Oaty, freed at last from his long captivity, who roared at the soldiers gathered below him, his mandibles spreading wide to give a full impact of terror on the men.

The CO swore and gave the order to fire immediately, and Oaty melted away into the shadows of the ship as the troops opened fire, backing away from the ship and back onto the dirt of the spaceport outside. Mal gestured to the others and through the confusion they filtered outside, gathering a distance away from the vessel that had suddenly become a hunting ground for their savage passenger.

The guards outside were peering nervously into the ship, trying to see what their compatriots were firing at, but they found it within themselves to remember their duty and they ushered the crew out and beyond any potential harm. As more gunshots rang out they reached the edge of the soldiers' perimeter, and the men there spoke to them.

"I'm to escort you to the customs house," said the young man in uniform. "If you'll follow me please?"

Two guards fell in line, one in front and one behind, and began to lead the way towards the customs house sat at the edge of the spaceport. Mal took a look around, having been distracted by other events before now to take in his surroundings.

He had been on Paquin before, and little had changed. The planet hovered uncertainly between developed status and border colony. Some of the buildings were sophisticated, but there were only a few of them – each larger structure was surrounded by what would best be classified as huts. There were only three major settlements on the planet, but it was located on an important shipping lane so there was always a lot of traffic passing through.

News always reached Paquin, unlike other border planets, which were doomed to stay out of the loop forever due to their distance from anywhere civilised. But more than anything else, the people here thought like colonists, and not like those in the Core. This was probably the main reason to explain Paquin's appearance – the administration probably had the money from their trade revenue to build up the infrastructure to more closely resemble a Core world, but they chose not to, recognising the endeavour as a waste of time and money to achieve only aesthetic results. The huts likely did their job just as well as a skyscraper, so there was no reason to change them.

Simon was regarding their guards, and frowning. "What just happened?" he asked, confused.

"We just got ourselves a free ticket outta here is what happened," grinned Jayne, thinking that they could break free of their small escort and go about their business, but Mal did not share his enthusiasm for violence.

"Close to the source," said River as she watched more troops gather outside the ship. "Moth to the flame. Going to get burned."

"The Alliance is the one running Project Nightmare, so the best place to be is near to the Alliance," said Inara. "We should go to where we were directed."

Mal nodded. "I agree. So, everyone stick together til we get to where we're going."

They walked for several minutes longer, following their escort as they led the way to the customs house. Mal knew that their simple action would bring them even closer to the ultimate end of Project Nightmare. He threw open the doors to the office as they arrived and strode inside, startling the few customs officers that inhabited the building.

"We got told to come see you," he informed them cheerfully. The two soldiers who had escorted them from their ship followed them inside, covering each of the two exits.

The officer behind the desk nodded nervously and gestured that Mal come closer, which he did. The others spread out across the small office, trying to find a way to keep themselves busy. Jayne sat on a flaky old couch, River stared out of the window with Inara, and Simon looked at the aged magazines while Zoe and Wash tried not to look at each other.

"What vessel did you arrive on?" asked the official, and Mal pointed out of the window towards the Firefly.

"The one with all the guards outside it. Doesn't have a name yet. Don't feel close enough to it."

"Oh…I understand. And you say you got sent here?"

"Yep. An air patrol directed us here, and then we got searched, and then the guy in charge over there sent us over here. Now I'm talkin' to you."

"How strange," pondered the customs officer. "That's a very odd series of events."

"I know. I was wondering if you could shed any light on that," said Mal as someone stood behind him, waiting to speak to the officer Mal currently conversed with.

"I'm afraid not. Is this your first time on Paquin?"

"Nope. Visited here a few times in the past and never got this treatment." He leaned forward, trying to assess whether or not the man was involved in some way with what was happening. "Wonder what changed?"

"I'm afraid I couldn't say…" said the official as the man stood behind Mal came to the desk, standing beside the Captain. "I'm sorry, if you just wait patiently, I'll deal with your enquiry once I've finished with this gentleman."

The newcomer produced a pistol and shot the customs officer through the heart with it. Mal leapt back, his eyes wide with shock as the old man helping him gurgled and died behind the desk. The Captain grabbed the gun arm of the newcomer, forcing it from his grasp, and within moments Jayne and Zoe were at his side, ready to take on any challenge. Mal scooped the man's neck into a locked grip with his left arm.

The other customs officers sprang into startled action, but they too were gunned down by patrons of the office who had been loitering idly. The two guards who had escorted them to the building suffered the same fate. Three men came to bear, firing and downing the staff of the government building, and as they focussed on Mal, Jayne had scooped up the fallen pistol from the ground and covered the aggressors with it. Just when it looked like a standoff would develop, Mal's prisoner managed to gurgle a few words.

"Malcolm Reynolds. I've been sent to help."

Mal narrowed his eyes and looked to Zoe. The man Mal held captive waved to the others, and they lowered their weapons. After a moment Mal released the assassin and he stepped aside, rubbing his tender neck.

"You got ten seconds," warned Mal.

"My name is James Freeman, I'm part of a resistance group here. I think I know why you've been brought here. It has something to do with Project Nightmare."

Mal exchanged another look with Zoe, but Freeman waved impatiently.

"I'd love to talk more, but time is _tight_. Let's discuss this as we move."

His men opened the back door to the facility, and Mal almost told Jayne to shoot him. But here was a chance to learn more about their situation, so he nodded to Zoe, who took charge and ushered the others through the back exit. She sequestered the weapons from the dead guards, kitting her and Jayne with the armaments.

She handed a pistol to Mal as they stepped outside. Two vans were parked, waiting with their rear doors open. Freeman jumped inside one, and waved to Mal to join him.

The Captain took a look around, and saw that their escapade hadn't attracted the attention of the Alliance for now, so it was reasonably safe to go along with the newcomers. He joined Freeman with Zoe and Jayne as the rest of the crew were sent inside the other one. The doors were closed, and the van started to drive away.

"Okay, what's going on here?" asked Mal, counting four people other than Freeman in the back of the van. They were all armed.

The tall, athletic man fielded Mal's question with the air of someone in charge. "We don't have much time, but I'll try to answer as many of your questions as possible. The Alliance has been operating a secret facility here for quite some time. They've been breeding creatures they call Nightmares down there, and their plan is to unleash them on Paquin some time today."

Zoe started. "They'll let them out?" she demanded. "I thought they were operating in secrecy? Won't that blow their cover a little?"

Freeman nodded. "They are, and it will. We don't know the specifics, but if those things are set loose on the planet, then everyone's gonna die. We have to stop them."

"And where do we fit in?" asked Mal, but it was as if Freeman didn't hear him.

"We're on our way there now. They keep the facility close to the spaceport so they can bring in additional resources without alerting many people to what they're doing. Our plan is to storm in, neutralise the guards, and stop whatever it is they're doing to release them. We'll be there shortly."

"Sounds like a plan," approved Jayne, cracking his knuckles. "I ain't had a good fight since I can't even remember."

"What happened to my other people?" asked Mal.

"They'll be taken to our base for safekeeping," replied Freeman. Mal smirked.

"And you just knew I'd bring my best fighters with me?" he asked. Freeman nodded.

"The best commander always keeps his most capable warriors close in an unexpected situation," he said. "And from what I've heard about you, you're an exceptional commander."

"What else you heard about me?" asked Mal, but the van was slowing to a halt.

"We're here," said Freeman.

As Mal frowned at their strange new ally, Freeman threw open the doors to the van and bounded outside, his people following him. Jayne jumped out of the van as Zoe looked to Mal for guidance, and he could only shrug and exit behind Freeman.

The sky was heavily overcast, radiating their surroundings with a dull, grey light. They were on a high street, or what passed for one on Paquin. Freeman and his people stormed across the road and into the foyer of one of the skyscrapers Mal had seen minutes earlier from the spaceport. The other van had separated from the one Mal had travelled in, and the rest of the street was desolate, despite the afternoon hour.

Jayne was running after Freeman, so Mal gestured to Zoe that they proceed. As they reached the doors, Mal heard gunshots ring out inside, and he prepared for a fight. However upon entry, all he found was a completely normal looking foyer, with three dead people slumped at their stations where they sat, ready to assist people upon entry. Glass columns rose to the high ceiling, and water sprouted from the top of the sculptures in a pretty but otherwise useless feature. Potted plants were dotted throughout the area, and Mal found trouble seeing the threat.

"Sure you've got the right place?" he asked Freeman, who stood taut, poised for action, scanning the perimeter.

"Yeah. Best way to avoid suspicion is to have the place look completely normal, right? Trust me, it gets worse." He waved to his people and they hurried through a back door, further into the building. "Come on, follow us."

Trailing behind as always, Mal, Jayne and Zoe filtered through after their strange new allies, finding themselves running through corridors that would not appear out of place at any other office block Mal had ever been in.

"Where is everyone?" asked Jayne, perplexed, and Mal realised that he was right. There were no employees, no staff, and no support workers. Whatever this place was, it was deserted.

"Beats me," he replied.

"Maybe he's right – it only looks like an office, which is why there's no people," input Zoe.

Freeman had slowed to a stop in front of them before a set of elevator doors.

"Hurry it up," he urged one his people, who was working a control panel. After a moment of silence, an alarm started to blare throughout the structure. "Damn it!" exclaimed the mysterious stranger. He whirled on the woman operating the panel. "You had one job to do and you rut it up!"

"What's happening?" asked Zoe. Freeman faced her.

"The Alliance knows we're here. This place will be crawling with soldiers in about thirty seconds. I'd get ready for a fight."

Mal checked his pistol on instinct as Freeman walked past him, getting into a position to fire down the corridor they had just walked along. Mal followed him.

"I'd have thought there'd be more of a presence here in the first place," he observed, but Freeman frowned at him.

"Not the time, Captain. We can discuss this later."

"But later will be too late," Mal said. Freeman went to say something in reply, but there was a commotion from further down the corridor. Heavily armed Alliance soldiers started to file along the corridor, their weapons brought to bear.

Freeman started to fire at the oncoming enemy, and the attackers were driven to cover as the stranger halted their progress. Freeman's people joined him at the turn in the corridor, firing alongside him. James turned to yell at Mal.

"Get into the elevator!" he cried over the hail of gunfire. "It'll take you to the central control room of Project Nightmare! You have to stop them before they release the creatures into the population!"

The elevator doors rolled open, and Mal glanced between it and Freeman, caught between the two options of running and fighting. One of James' people fell back, hit with a bullet from the fast-approaching Alliance.

"_Go!_" yelled the man. "I don't know how long we can…"

He span around suddenly, a bloody hole torn through his chest. Mal solidified into action. He whirled and sped for the elevator as Freeman's remaining people fell to the Alliance assault, Zoe and Jayne right behind him. They entered the car as the troopers rounded the corner, intent on eliminating them, too.

The doors slid closed, and they were safe for now. The car started to descend into the depths of the building.

In the quiet that existed after their sudden encounter with the law, Jayne frowned and turned to the others.

"That escalated quickly," he observed. Zoe was nodding.

"Yeah. Kinda got out of hand fast."

Another alarm started to blare, and Jayne groaned.

"What now?" he asked, but an automated voice informed them of the next development through a speaker on the wall.

"_Three minutes until the containment units are opened,"_ it said. _"Three minutes remain. All personnel must evacuate immediately."_

Jayne snapped his fingers. "That's why there's no one here!" he exclaimed. "They all escaped before they got eaten up by those things!"

"Wonder how long this ride lasts," muttered Zoe, but several seconds later the car slowed to a stop and the doors slid open again.

The interior they now faced was drastically different to the entirely normal façade they had encountered upstairs. The walls were made of a dark, metallic substance, and dull blue light emanated from the floor through strips placed at the base of each wall.

A short corridor fed through to a large chamber, filled with monitoring equipment and banks of machinery, the nature of which Mal could only guess. He did recognise what was displayed on the monitors, however – dozens of the eggs that produced the monsters, the same kind of which had devastated his old ship and done whatever they had done to Kaylee. Rows and rows of the eggs that Andrews had unwittingly stumbled across were placed in neat lines, ready to be unleashed on the planet above. A countdown timer was ticking on one monitor. It read two and a half minutes remaining.

"Captain!" called Zoe. Mal rushed to join her as she began to type data into one of the control banks. "I think I can deactivate it from here."

Mal watched as she typed furiously into the computer, but just as she reached the pivotal moment of her coding, something changed inside the Captain.

"Stop!" he snapped, just as she was about to complete the command that would halt the release of the creatures. Her hands froze above the keyboard, and she looked at him expectantly. The alarms continued to blaze, and the countdown read two minutes.

"Captain?" she asked anxiously, eager to put an end to the imminent atrocity. Jayne was covering the corridor they had just walked down – the only exit. The doors of the elevator slid closed, and the car began to rise back to the upper floor. He looked around at the other two.

"What's in the good gorram are you doing?" he hissed. "We just lost our ride!"

Mal was staring intently at the screen.

"No…" he said. "No. Somethin' ain't right."

"What?" demanded Zoe. "Captain, we gotta…"

He broke from his trance and turned to regard Zoe. "What's the rush?" he asked. "Still over a minute left."

Zoe was glaring at him as if he'd lost his mind. "You _do_ know what these things will do if they're set loose on the surface?" she asked. Mal nodded.

"Yeah. I do. Funny that, ain't it? One of the few people who knows first-hand what will happen, in exact detail, is the one to make it to the control room of this whole thing."

Jayne scowled. "What are you talking about?"

Mal shrugged. The countdown still ticked away inexorably towards zero. "I'm feeling a little hurried, overall, since we got here," he said. "First the air patrol, then the search, then the customs house, then our freedom fighter friend, and now we find ourselves inside the _very core_ of Project Nightmare, all within half an hour of touching down. Hurry, hurry…never a second to think. Well, I'm takin' a second."

Zoe huffed. "I'm shutting it down," she said, reaching for the keyboard, but Mal snatched her wrist away. He stared at her intently.

"No," he said firmly. "We still got time."

The board above the elevator read that it had reached the top of the shaft. Jayne glanced around at the others, an anxious look on his face.

"You know that half the Alliance is up there?" he asked. "I think they're on their way down."

Mal pursed his lips and squinted at the control board. "That's another thing," he said. "All this time the Alliance hasn't touched us, let us do what we wanted, and now they're gunning for us? Hell, the only time they fired on us was when the Rogue made them do it."

"Maybe he's behind this?" asked Zoe. "He could have commandeered the forces here to take us out."

Mal shrugged. "I dunno. What I do know is that this is all a little convenient, and I'm feeling like I'm being played. And if there's one thing I hate…"

Jayne called out from his vantage point. "Elevator's on the way down," he announced. Zoe looked up from the console she stood poised over.

"Thirty seconds left," she informed. "If we're gonna do this…"

Mal folded his arms resolutely. "We're not," he said, half of him anxious that he was condemning an entire planet to a fate worse than death, and the other half firm in his belief that all was not as it appeared.

Zoe gawked at him. "Sir…"

Mal shook his head. "I don't wanna hear it," he snapped.

"That's too bad, sir, because I'm sayin' it," she retorted. "If you're wrong, everyone on this planet will die. And I'm not sure I want that on my conscience."

"We gonna have a problem here?" asked Mal, expecting a confrontation. But Zoe shook her head and stood to the side.

"No, sir. But if this goes down like I hope it doesn't, then it's not gonna be on me or him," she said, indicating Jayne.

Mal turned back to the monitor and nodded. "Fair enough," he said as the timer reached ten seconds.

"It's nearly here!" called Jayne as the elevator approached the bottom of the shaft, and Mal could only stand and stare as the timer ticked away the remaining seconds, until the pivotal moment when it reached zero and beeped almost cheerfully.

Mal glanced nervously at the other screens, but they didn't change. The rows of eggs lining the security feeds remained where they were, and there was no other indication that anything at all had happened.

The screen with the timer on it turned dark, and Mal breathed a sigh of relief.

"Mal!" cried Jayne as the elevator reached the ground, and Mal took up a position next to Jayne and aimed his pistol. A second later, Zoe was at his side, and they prepared to face the oncoming horde.

The doors slid open to reveal a solitary figure. His chest was still stained with blood surrounding the tear on his tunic above his heart, but James Freeman looked very much alive. He stood for a few moments regarding the trio facing him, and slowly he began to applaud as he stepped through the doors and into the control room.

"Well done, Captain," he said. "I can see why they chose you. Our victim has to be at least moderately intelligent in order to follow the trail we set, but I see now that they underestimated you."

"You got three seconds to explain what the hell is going on," snapped Zoe, but Freeman just smiled and carried on walking towards them slowly.

"As you might have guessed, this isn't the central control room for Project Nightmare, and I am not a renegade freedom fighter seeking to prevent the completion of said Project. Just the opposite, in fact."

Jayne's face twisted into a snarl and he fired at Freeman. The pistol banged loudly, and an empty casing was ejected from the side of the weapon, but nothing happened to Freeman. Jayne grimaced and fired several more times, but Freeman was unharmed.

"Blanks," said Mal, recognising that his own weapon was useless. They had disembarked their ship unarmed as a result of the Alliance inspection back at the spaceport, and they had claimed the weapons they currently held from the dead bodies of the Alliance troopers apparently killed in the customs office.

"Yes," said Freeman. "Perhaps now you can appreciate the lengths to which we stretched in order to carry out this little charade."

Zoe abandoned her useless weapon and charged at the strange man before them, but before she had taken two steps Freeman had produced a gun of his own and blasted Zoe with it. The air sparked with the blue discharge of a stun pistol, and Zoe was forced back, her body rendered numb by the impact.

Freeman swept the pistol around to cover the remaining members of the trio. "I'd hoped this wouldn't be necessary," he said.

"Your name isn't James Freeman, is it?" asked Jayne, and the man in question smiled again.

"My name isn't," he replied, and Mal found himself looking at the third Operative they had encountered since this had started.

"So are you gonna explain what we're doing here?" asked Mal, and the man formerly known as Freeman nodded.

"Of course I am. But not here," he said. He aimed the gun straight at Mal, and before he even had a chance to try to defend himself, he saw a wave of blue energy streak towards him, and then nothing.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

He came to, an unknown amount of time later, in a perfectly white room. Mal hadn't been a part of the group taken prisoner on the Alliance cruiser almost two weeks ago, but if he had he would recognise the room as similar to the cells on that ship. His hands were tied to the sides of his chair, and he had been drooling excessively. His lower lip hung slack even as he lifted his head weakly from his chest to look around, and he recognised the effects of some kind of tranquiliser flowing through his veins. His head was filled with candyfloss, and his muscles felt as weak as those of a baby.

"Welcome back, Captain," said the last voice he had heard before being attacked, and looking around Mal could see Freeman sat staring at him, now dressed in the trademark Operative body armour he had encountered previously.

"What are you doing, just sitting there and staring at me sleep?" mumbled Mal, the drug slurring his speech, and Freeman nodded.

"I've been waiting. Don't worry, now you're awake the effects of your sedative should wear off quickly."

"Figured you'd just kill me and have it done with," muttered Mal. "Gonna torture me first?"

Freeman laughed softly. "No, Captain," he said. "You're almost at the end of your road. I imagine you were expecting to come here, all guns blazing, and blow apart the scheme you've been ensnared by?"

"Somethin' like that," replied the Captain.

"Well, I'm afraid that's not possible any more," replied the Operative. "You are within our grasp, and we only need one more thing from you before you're finished."

"What's that?" asked Mal, but Freeman waved his hand dismissively.

"Before we talk about that, I wanted to show you this place, and what we're doing here. I want you to fully understand what Project Nightmare is before we finish with you. I'm going to release your bonds now. I trust there won't be any trouble? I feel I have to remind you that now we have you in custody, we really don't need any of your other crew alive. They have been detained, unharmed, as a courtesy, but of course any refusal of co-operation on your part will lead to their suffering, or death. Do you understand?"

Mal nodded, and the Operative freed his shackles. Mal stepped up and away from the chair, wavering on his feet for a moment before he achieved balance, and rubbed his hands to promote the flow of blood back into them.

"What's so special about me?" he asked, feeling better by the moment as the effects of the drug faded away. Freeman gestured towards what looked like the wall, but upon further inspection there was the faint outline of a doorframe set into it. Mal walked forward and it slid open automatically, revealing a dull grey corridor, similar to the one that had led to the fake control room that, from his perspective, he had only just left.

"Nothing, especially," said Freeman as he joined Mal in the corridor and began to walk along. Mal kept pace beside him. "Not at first, anyway. How much do you know about how you got here?"

Mal cast his mind back all the way to the beginning. "It all started when we got a job. A real simple job hauling a crate across the system. Turns out a lot of people wanted that crate, and a lot of blood got spilled over it as we went along. I guess things just escalated from there."

Freeman nodded slowly. "You're halfway there," he said. "Allow me to fill in the blanks for you.

"For a while, we, the Alliance, have been breeding the creatures you later encountered on your journey. We issue a job through a dummy corporation to transport a cargo crate. A crew accepts, and midway on their journey, the crate opens and exposes the crew to the creatures within. Some or all of the crew are incapacitated and impregnated, and the Alliance then swoops in to lend a hand.

"Unfortunately for the crew, this leads to them being brought here, or to our other facility on a mobile cruiser, and ultimately dying a painful death as they contribute towards the greater goal of Project Nightmare."

"Yeah, we know about the cruiser," said Mal. "I believe the young girl travelling with us was the one responsible for blowing most of it to hell as she left."

Freeman chuckled. "Yes, I'd heard about that. Good for her."

Mal remembered that Operatives were rarely angered, and decided to give up on his attempts for now. He'd get the bastard later on with something really big. Freeman had already continued talking.

"Now, the trouble started when you took the crate, but it was stolen from you. By Captain Harvey, if I'm not mistaken, an old war acquaintance of yours working with the New Independents."

"Yeah. Then we followed him to Hera when it revolted, found him and left before the Alliance really cracked down on the planet. Then that thing popped out of him, and the fun really started."

Freeman stopped at a door and opened it with a passkey. Inside was a small conference room where, Mal was surprised to see, most of his crew was gathered. It was a mostly unremarkable room, with a few chairs set around a lone table. There was a computer console set into the far wall.

Inara flew forward and embraced him roughly, and after a startled moment Mal returned the gesture, his eyes scanning the rest of the room. Jayne and Zoe hung back against the far wall, but Simon stood forward, his eyes full of fire.

"Where is my sister?" he demanded, but Freeman dismissed his enquiry.

"She's being held, securely, in a separate part of the facility," he answered. "We know what she's capable of, Doctor. More than you do."

"What do you want with us?" asked Zoe, but Mal waved her to silence.

"He's in the middle of telling me," he replied on behalf of the newly encountered Operative. "We've been takin' a stroll down memory lane. We got up to Hera before we arrived. And you should know, he's an Operative," he added for Simon and Inara's benefit.

"I'll get comfortable then," said Zoe icily.

"The creature burst out of your friend Harvey, and ultimately destroyed your ship," said the Operative. "Some of you were brought aboard our cruiser by a Trainee, the man who later killed my predecessor just a few days ago."

"So you replaced the Queen of Lies," said Simon, feeling a spike of bitter rage as he recalled the visage of the venomous female Operative who had manipulated most of them expertly. "Big shoes to fill."

Freeman ignored him. "You broke free, and eventually escaped from the cruiser through a combination of blind luck and sheer determination. It was at this point my predecessor decided that you would be more useful to Project Nightmare in another capacity, and at around the same time, she disgraced the Rogue, igniting within him the fire that would eventually lead to her death."

"Very poetic," observed Zoe. "Now how about telling us why we're here?"

"You travelled to the New Independent base, and when there, you negotiated a new ship in exchange for you joining their organisation. The late Operative began to manipulate you all," said Freeman. "She began to steer you towards a specific point in space and time – namely, here, and now. Unfortunately for her, the Rogue, on his quest for vengeance, commandeered her plans and became intertwined in them, to the point that she had to use you to draw him out and kill him."

"A plan that backfired spectacularly," commented Inara, and Freeman nodded.

"Indeed. The whereabouts of the Rogue's estranged son, Roderick Myers, was fed to you, Captain Reynolds, in the knowledge that the Rogue was monitoring you, and the trail led you to Londinium. I'm sure you can all remember what happened once you arrived – after all, you were there. Death, destruction…all of the usual events that seem to happen when you're around, Captain."

"Yeah, yeah," said Jayne. "She died, I killed the brat, and here we are. Get to the good stuff."

Freeman smiled. "I'm afraid that you're all going to be quite disappointed when you learn our plan," he said. "After everything that's happened – gratuitous violence, loss and pain – I think you might find the truth of the matter to be quite anticlimactic."

"Might help if you actually tell us," said Mal.

Freeman nodded. "Indeed." This was it, realised Mal. The moment that everything had been leading towards, and the reason so much pain and death and suffering had followed behind them for all of this time. He waited almost breathlessly as Freeman began to speak again. "The truth of the matter is, the point of everything that has happened to you over the past two weeks…is everything that has happened to you over the past two weeks."

There was a moment of silence before someone could speak.

"Care to run that by me again?" asked Jayne.

"The Alliance might be set in its ways," said Freeman, "But we do learn. And what we learned after the Miranda incident is that it's all about evidence. If you had made the unsubstantiated claim that the Alliance was the one to create the Reavers, you would have been branded a group of conspiracy theorists and ignored. But the fact that you produced evidence held great sway over the public. Imagine among the Core worlds, where Reavers were just a story to frighten children, suddenly exposed not only to their existence, but the fact that their government had been instrumental in their creation?"

"Yeah? So?" asked Mal.

"The point is, morale has been dealt a heavy blow. Polls indicate that confidence in the Alliance has reached an all time low. As you mentioned earlier, a world even revolted against our rule. Something had to be done in order to curb this disruptive and unruly behaviour before something even worse happened. And that's where you come in, Captain."

"This had better start making sense soon," growled Jayne.

"The public needs a prominent figure to rally against. Someone who can be blamed for all of the bad things that are happening throughout the system. A terrorist who will inspire hatred and patriotism in even the fringe colonies of the Alliance, to the point that people will forget the errors of the government, and even support us as we protect them from the crusade of evil being carried out against them. You, Captain. I'm afraid that, through an unfortunate series of accidents and coincidences, the focus of our plan fell on you."

Mal sat down.

"But how?" asked Inara, stunned. "I thought that you were trying to kill Mal at the start?"

Freeman nodded. "We were. You see, we can plan for any number of things, but at some point we have to improvise. You all fell victim to Project Nightmare as any other crew might have done. As I said, a series of coincidences led to you surviving the crate we gave to you. As protocol dictated, we tried to eliminate you as witnesses to the Project, but after that was proving difficult, my predecessor decided to use you in another capacity. At that point she began her manipulations, leading you all here."

"That can't be all of it," said Mal, his stomach churning. "There's more."

"Yes, there is. Only a little more. You see, this plan of ours was formed from disparate threads of a situation that seemed to spell disaster for the Alliance. You will find that we are very good at adapting to new circumstances. We had no express purpose for the production of the alien creatures, mutiny hung in the air across almost every colony, and the New Independents were growing in strength each day. It seemed that we would drown in the inexorable flood of the problems we faced, but one man came forth, spanning the chasm separating the different elements of our plight."

"Me," said Mal.

"Yes. You were involved with the New Independents, you had fallen victim to Project Nightmare, and you were instrumental in the Miranda incident. You fought against the Alliance during the war, your criminal record is, at best, spotty, and best of all, you were exactly where we could use you best to our advantage. Project Nightmare became more than just the production from that moment – it grew to include all of the elements that opposed us."

"And how's that?" asked the Captain. Freeman smirked.

"Simply put, Captain, you are the Nightmare we have been working so hard to create. You are personally responsible for what Project Nightmare will do."

"Except for the part where I'm not," bit back Mal.

"Prove it. We can. Your ship docked with a New Independent vessel, transferring a container full of dangerous alien organisms to a fringe terrorist group."

"They held us up!" contested Zoe, and Freeman shrugged.

"Prove it," he repeated. "We have the records of Captain Harvey's ship. It clearly shows that it linked with yours, and that a transfer was made. Other logs show that the contents of the crate were the xenomorphs." He continued with his verbal assault. "Then you headed to Hera to take part in the revolution there – an incident that ended with the orbital bombardment of the planet."

"By the Alliance!" cried Jayne.

"Were we bombing the planet?" asked Freeman. "Or were we trying to contain the spread of the aliens you brought to the surface? It's all about how you play the light on the hard evidence you have at hand. Next, our forces tried to capture you to face justice, but you evaded us. Needless to say, we won't be including the fact that the cruiser detaining you was, in fact, the facility producing the alien organisms in the first place. That might conflict somewhat with the picture we're trying to paint."

Mal sat weary at the table as he listened to Freeman. There was no point contesting anything he was saying – he was right. Mal had done what he had done, and the Alliance had been there all along, recording every move he made, ready to broadcast it to the system at a later date. They could present the facts and twist them any way they wanted to, and make the public believe whatever they desired. But the Operative wasn't finished.

"Imagine our delight when the very next place you travelled to was the home base of the New Independent movement, where you not only received supplies and a ship from them, but you formally joined their organisation, travelling with one of their representatives. That will be instrumental in the public's perception of you, Captain, and it tars the New Independents with the same brush. And though what happened next was completely unexpected, when you travelled to Londinium, you strengthened our portfolio of evidence against you considerably. The general havoc wrought throughout the capital, including the massacre of dozens of our brave soldiers, and the fact that one of the orbital cannons fired into a densely populated area, ended up being fine additions to our crusade of truth."

"That wasn't us," said Jayne triumphantly. "And there were two Operatives runnin' around with us all the time. How do you explain that? One of your top girls was helping us through the whole thing! She even died to protect us!"

Freeman shrugged. "An Operative doesn't exist. No paperwork will ever be found that links the woman you're talking about to us, because it was never written."

"But she worked for you," said Jayne, confused. "She helped us. That means the Alliance helped us."

"Prove it," muttered Mal. Freeman nodded approvingly.

"Exactly, Captain. I'm glad to see you're catching on. Finally, our considerable cache of evidence against you ends here, in this place, on this day, and that is the most damning evidence of all."

"Why?" asked Inara, a feeling of dread growing within her.

"Because here, today, Malcolm Reynolds will be responsible for unleashing the creatures stored in this facility upon the civilian population," said Freeman with a dreadful note of finality.

Mal felt weak. As his crew shouted, outraged, at the Operative in front of them, he could only sit and stare at the floor. How could he fight against this? He had expected to come here to find a weapon, or some unknown truth he could use against the Alliance. Instead they had been neutralised ruthlessly before it was even obvious it was happening, and he was trapped in some anonymous facility, powerless to act against the slander of his name – no, more important than that, he was unable to do anything to protect the thousands of civilians above him from the terrible fate that lurked below the surface of the planet. Unable to protect the entire system from the imminent iron fist of the Alliance.

Mal looked up to see that Freeman was staring expressionlessly at him, ignoring everyone else in the room. "That's what Project Nightmare is?" asked Mal, and though his voice was weak it carried through the chaotic protests of his crew, and they died down into silence upon hearing his voice. "That's all this has been about? Just setting these things loose?"

Freeman seemed to stand up straighter, his face filling with a blind zeal. "Only in the most basic sense," he said. "Project Nightmare only begins with the release of the creatures. Its true goal extends far beyond that. Once people see the effect the xenomorphs have on this planet, they will be terrified witless. They will scatter and seek protection behind the reassuring arms of the Alliance, who will move in and eradicate the threat of the creatures forever – the threat created by a rogue group known as the New Independents, and their zealot Malcolm Reynolds. However, naturally, the cleansing mission will miss a few of the monsters, and they will periodically resurface across the system – probably whenever morale takes a turn for the worse, by extraordinary coincidence. We will solidify our hold on the system, and we deal a crippling blow to our enemies, without ever having to fire a shot.

"You see, ladies and gentlemen, the key to this equation is the satisfying degree of control that negative human emotion allows. At the moment, our citizens are fed too well, or have too much money, if they live in the Core, that is. On the Rim, people are less pampered, but their hatred is directed towards the Alliance. Once the universal threat of the Nightmare arrives, people will be scared. Those on the Rim because their worlds are next in line after Paquin falls, and those in the Core because their bubble of security is threatened by something completely unknown to them. In that weakest of mental states, when people are most vulnerable to manipulation, the Alliance will make certain…changes to its policies and protocols. And just when people might realise what we are doing, we will introduce the hated enemy who unleashed the terrible creatures into their midst. They will be so busy hating you, Captain, that we will be able to do whatever we want, and no one will pay a blind bit of notice."

"So why the elaborate charade earlier?" asked Inara. "Why not kill us all as soon as we arrived?"

Freeman smirked in an extremely self-satisfied way. "Truth be told, we wanted to get video evidence of Reynolds pushing the button. The fake control room of Project Nightmare is little more than a jury-rigged power transfer node with a few aesthetic changes. But it would be enough to fool an amateur, and the thought of having a final batch of video files, showing you murdering several customs officials, and then breaking into Project Nightmare, was just too tempting."

"We were trying to switch it off," protested Jayne, his head spinning with all of the information flying around him. "And you killed those customs guys."

"Edited in a certain way, it would look quite different," assured the Operative known as Freeman. "And as for me? As with my predecessor, I am no one. Video footage of me shooting an innocent would invoke no link with the Alliance, because officially no link exists between us."

"What happens now?" asked Mal.

"Now?" replied Freeman. He shrugged. "Now we keep you here for the rest of your natural lives. None of you will ever see daylight again. There is no chance of escape, and no chance of resistance because our only goal for you, now, is for you to do nothing else. You will be kept comfortable, but you will remain prisoners until you die from natural causes."

"Why not kill us?" growled Zoe.

"Because, simply, if we killed you we would have to dispose of your bodies. If someone were to find your remains, then it would jeopardise our ongoing plans. Part of creating a villain on the scale we are about to is that, unfortunately, once he dies, his usefulness expires. People cannot be afraid of someone buried in a ditch, or floating in the vacuum of space. You will be an eternal menace, Captain. Countless schemes, black ops and conspiracies will be blamed on you, and all of the time you will be safely ensconced here, unable to try and provide the ultimate evidence – that you had nothing to do with what we associated you with. And all of this for the simple reason that, if they are too busy hating you, Captain Reynolds, then they can't hate us at the same time."

"They will," vowed Mal. "Maybe not everyone, but…" His words trailed away as Freeman started to laugh, a surprising sound filled with joy.

"Oh, Captain!" he chuckled. "You do make me laugh. Of course not everyone will believe us. But the important thing is…" He leaned forward, his eyes still filled with the zealous fire of a fanatic. "Enough will. The faceless mass of the majority will conform out of fear, and the intelligent, or the mad, or just the lonely – those remaining who see our scheme for everything that it is – will be shunned by the rest as crackpots and paranoid delusionals for daring to think for themselves. And that, Captain, is something you cannot argue against, because you know that it's true."

The gravity of the planet seemed stronger, trying to pull Mal through the floor via his stomach. His head swam with the implications of everything he had been told, and how that – after all of his wild fantasies of rebellion and resistance – simply coming to the planet had completed the Project they had all fallen victim to. Now he was trapped in a faceless facility, with no hope of ever escaping, and the worst part was not that he would become the most hated person in recent history as a result of it, but that finally, the Alliance had taken the sky from him.

Doomed to spend the rest of eternity rotting deep below the earth, Mal could only stare dumbly into space, too horrified by the events unfolding around him to even react, as the newest Operative in their lives stood, left the room, and sealed the door behind him with an ominous and dreadfully final sound.


	31. Day Sixteen: Who We Are

**Day Sixteen**

**Who We Are**

"Won't they be looking for us?" asked Cullen.

"Definitely," replied the Rogue.

"Will they find us?"

"Probably. Soon."

"Then what are we doing here?"

"You'll see, soon enough."

"This situation is far from ideal," said Cullen. He was standing in an alley. Much of his life had come to take place in dank, dark places recently, he reflected.

"Does this disagree with your sensibilities?" asked his companion, the Rogue. Cullen shrugged.

"Does it matter?" retorted the boy.

"Yes," said the Rogue, as he led the boy along the route of the narrow space.

"And why is that?"

"Because they are not your sensibilities."

"Right," said Cullen. "I'm a non-entity. Right? That's what you called me."

"Yes."

The teenager sighed with exasperation. "It would be helpful to me if you replied with more than one syllable answers."

Abruptly the Rogue stopped and turned around, his fiercely astute eyes burning icily blue into Cullen's own. "And it would be helpful to me to discover who you really are," he said firmly.

His charge screwed up his face, disgusted and perplexed. "Talking in riddles also doesn't assist me in understanding what it is you want from me."

"I don't want anything from you, Cullen. And that's the difficulty we have repeatedly encountered as we have progressed. I am not your teacher, friend, or mentor." He turned back around and continued to walk along the alley. "And most importantly, I am not your father."

Cullen's face darkened with an intense rage astonishingly quickly. "I'm well aware of that," snarled the boy.

"You hate your father?"

Cullen sprang forward, his newly awakened training springing into action, beyond his conscious control. He seized the Rogue and slammed him against the wall of the alley. The younger man's face strayed dangerously within the Rogue's personal space, but the former Alliance Operative did not respond in kind. He gazed calmly at the boy, as if expecting this outburst.

"Do you think I hate him?" hissed Cullen.

"I think that _you_ think you hate him," responded the Rogue. Cullen slammed the man into the wall again, his frustration manifesting as a physical outburst.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" roared the boy. "You talk, but I don't know what you say!"

"That's the problem," said the Rogue in a soothing tone. "But I have a plan to fix that." He looked further down the alleyway. "We're almost there."

"Where?"

"Our destination," said the Rogue, looking back at the teenager. "Do you want to see what I've arranged for you?"

Cullen glowered at the older man, and released him after a sullen moment. The Rogue led the way, the boy tagging along silently behind, and when it seemed as though they had arrived at the deepest, darkest point of the alleyway, the man turned and uncovered a door from beneath layers of matted weeds, growing from the brickwork and tumbling down across the doorway, concealing it from casual view.

"In here," said the Rogue. Before Cullen could say anything else, the other male opened the door and entered. A sense of foreboding grew within Cullen, but the boy swallowed his fear indignantly and followed.

He gasped as soon as his eyes adjusted to the intense darkness within.

"What is this?" he demanded. He paced beyond the Rogue, who stood silently as a pillar just past the doorway, and towards the centre of the room, the large chamber that was once some kind of manufacturing plant, but had since fallen into disarray.

"You are a seething mass of rage," said the Rogue from where he stood behind Cullen. "Lashing out indiscriminately at whatever is in front of you, you don't even see what it is when you strike. You are of no use to me in your current state."

Cullen turned to face the other man. "So you do this?"

"Yes."

In the centre of the room, tied to a chair, was Cullen's father. His eyes rolled slowly open into awareness, overcoming the drugs or physical trauma that had forced him into unconsciousness. He tried to speak, but the gag muffled the sound. The man's son gaped, horrified, at the sight. "Why?" he asked.

"In the hope of snapping you from this funk you have slipped into."

Cullen turned to look at his apparent tormentor. "What do you expect me to do?"

The Rogue almost smiled, his disbelief escaping as a sharp exhalation of air from his lungs. "Nothing," he said. "Anything. I don't care. Kill him, set him free, leave him there."

"Do you expect me to believe that you went to the extreme length of organising..."

The Rogue's affability evaporated. "Yes," he interrupted. "I did this to demonstrate that _I do not care_ about your past trials, or your psychological ills. History is irrelevant. I don't have time for you to heal gradually – I need you to be my instrument, now."

Cullen's face darkened again "Your instrument?" he spat. "In your crusade against the Alliance?"

"Yes!" roared the Rogue, his voice echoing hollowly around the chamber. Cullen was shocked into silence. The older, bigger man suddenly paced towards the teenager, who retreated instinctively from the hulking man's advance, but he stopped after a moment. "I thought you would be a new man when I liberated your memory," said the Rogue, calmer after a moment of reflection. "But you're still a boy. You have retreated back into your constructed personality, programmed into your mind by the Alliance, too terrified by your sudden reawakening. I don't need a coward, I don't need a boy. I need a man. A peer."

"I am your peer," said Cullen uncertainly, but the Rogue dismissed his words with disgust.

"If you were my peer, you would have turned back around to face your father by now, instead of stalling the act by trying to argue with me."

Cullen glowered with anger, but he did not turn around. His hands balled into fists and back into open palms, and his nostrils flared with indignant shame, but he did not turn around. The Rogue's eyebrow raised pointedly.

"I'll be waiting outside," he said. "If you join me, it had better not be you as you are who walks out of that door."

The Rogue walked to the other side of the room, where another door lay shrouded in darkness, stepped outside and closed the door behind him. He looked up at the sky. It had started to rain. The heavy drops fell to the ground all around him, splattering the broken concrete of the desolate industrial ground, staining the light grey of the material darker as the water hit it.

He produced a cigarette and lit it, inhaling the first drag deeply. The Alliance had banned him as an Operative from using addictive substances, but that didn't seem to matter much any more. His life expectancy was even lower now than it was back when he had been an Operative. And the Rogue remained unaware that his life expectancy was even lower as he thought at that second, because he did not see the shadowy figure creeping closer to him through the twisted remains of the factory behind him.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"What are we doing here?" asked Mal as his escort stopped him along the corridor. James Freeman, their chief jailer, gestured about him.

"You've been here three days now, Captain," he said. "Each of your crew has a separate cell, you are looked after, all your needs met. Once a day you are allowed communal time of one hour, when you eat your evening meal."

"Yeah, I'm kinda familiar with the daily routine by now," remarked Mal. "Now where are you takin' me?"

"Here," said Freeman. He activated a switch on the wall beside him, and a whirring noise stirred within it. "I want you to see where you are, so that any thought of escape would be eliminated within you."

The entire wall began to rumble awake, lifting up as a shutter from the deck. Light began to pour in from beneath the widening opening, and Mal regarded it with a small measure of surprise. He hadn't been aware that the wall had this function before it moved.

"What makes you think I'd be lookin' to escape?" asked Mal, and Freeman smirked as the wall reached waist height.

"I know you, Mal," he replied. The wall reached eye level, and Mal had to squint against the sudden flare. As his eyes adjusted, dismay grew within him, his heart falling alongside his hand as he lowered it from shielding his face from the onslaught of light. Freeman stepped slightly closer to Mal, taking in the view alongside him.

"No escape," he said quietly.

Mal could not respond as he fully comprehended the nature of their prison. Beyond the thick window was the vacuum of space. The system's star shone brightly, a vast, incomprehensible distance away, illuminating the small spheres that hung at various intervals throughout the vista spreading out before the captive Captain. A debris field lay between where he stood and the rest of the system, shielding the prison from view.

He had assumed they were still being held below the surface of Paquin. Even the subtle, tell-tale signals such as the force of gravity and the air pressure had given him every indication that he was far below the surface of the world, buried alive in an attempt to hide what the Alliance was about to do to the system.

"You thought we were still on Paquin?" asked Freeman. "Why would we keep you close to any other living soul? Out here it's just you and me, Captain. For all eternity. No possibility of escape. No ship will ever dock with this facility. Once a month a supply ship jettisons a cargo pod into the debris field, and our people go to get it via a space walk. No contact. No hope. So don't waste your time trying to think of a way to escape me. I'm a different breed than the other Operatives you have encountered before me."

Mal's eyes drifted from the visage of the solar system and met Freeman's gaze firmly.

"A light," he muttered.

"What?" asked Freeman.

"A blocked toilet," he whispered resolutely. "An air filter. A gravity plate. At some point you're going to change a light bulb, and I'm gonna be waitin'. Because it's not just you and me out here. I got friends with me. And you'd better keep a close eye on us, 'cause eternity is a long time, and if you look away for a second, it'll be your last."

Freeman smiled again. "You're right. Because I have friends with me too."

Mal shifted his gaze to look beyond his captor. Further down the corridor stood three other people, all wearing the same body armour as Freeman.

The Captain smiled. "One moment," he told Freeman. "It's all I need."

The Operative conceded the point with a slight nod of his head. Then he turned and walked away, leaving the others to escort Mal back to his cell.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

"Father," said Cullen. The man tied to the chair was giving small, sharp snorts of breath through his nose, panic filling him. He was confused – his son was in front of him, somehow party to his abduction. But Cullen didn't care. His eyes were flat with a cold rage, and he trembled with emotion.

"You abandoned me," said the boy. Dad's eyes filled with confusion, blind incomprehension flooding his features. Something about this simple gesture drove Cullen over the edge into insanity. He flew forward and grabbed his father by the throat, forcing the chair back with such force that it toppled over, his father landing heavily on his back, Cullen kneeling over him. His fingers found Dad's neck, but he did not squeeze, control finding him at the crucial moment. He traced the contours of his father's throat almost tenderly, his fingers still trembling. Dad sobbed once, his confusion boiling over into terror as he took in the strange, cruel look in his son's eyes.

"I know why I'm angry," said Cullen after a tense moment of silence. "After everything that's happened to me. The confusion. The fear. My awakening. My trying to kill a shipload of people without conscious awareness, because that's what they did to me. All of that, and you don't even know." He leaned down so his lips almost brushed his father's ear. "You remain absolutely and irrevocably _ignorant_ of my hardships," he whispered. "I met a girl. Gifted. More so than I, and you're fully aware of my considerable intelligence and ability. She went to the same school as I. Had the same training as I. But she got out, because her brother came to save her." He stood up, his face a neutral mask, concealing whatever true emotion was coursing through him. "And so my question is this: what is the cost of a failure as great as the one you have done to me?"

Cullen's father tried to speak, a tear rolling down his cheek as he tried to make some sense of what was happening, but Cullen moved back to his side, shushing him gently.

"Father...be quiet. I've wanted to kill you." He sighed, a noise that was close to being laughter, but weariness draining the mirth from the gesture. "I've wanted to kill everyone. I've wanted the entire universe to burn. But you more than the rest. You sent me to that place, and when I needed someone to protect me, you failed. You are the reason why I am like this now. You get the blame for that. But I can't be the culmination of my past. I think if that happened, I would simply go insane. I don't need to resolve any issue with you, because it is irrelevant to my future. And now that you're here, I can understand that. It's what he wanted me to see."

He stood up, and then firmly placed the heel of his boot against Dad's temple, forcing the man's head against the concrete ground painfully. A muffled shout of agony erupted from behind the gag, but Cullen's face did not hold a trace of sympathy. His emotions flickered between a dangerous mixture of madness and rationality. He looked down at his father with uncaring eyes.

"I don't need to resolve anything," he said. "I am a superior being now. Death is my trade. Not only can I snuff out human life, I can do it efficiently and remorselessly. I am made this way because of the decisions that you made. Do you deserve death? I'm not sure. And I find that I don't care about the ethical implications of doing so. It's just and me in this room. I don't need to resolve anything," he repeated. "But the question remains, do I _want_ to?"

His boot pressed against Dad's temple, increasing the pressure exerted on the sensitive place above his ear. The man screamed in pain, and Cullen looked on, almost uncaring, hovering between one outcome and the other.

He made his decision.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

The door to Simon's cell burst open.

"Come with me," said a familiar voice. Startled from his sleep, the doctor sat rigid, his eyes blinking owlishly at the light streaming in from the doorway. The silhouette who had addressed him stood ominously outlined in the rectangle of brightness, waiting for him to respond patiently. Simon clambered out of his cot, still dressed from when he had nodded off earlier, and padded to the door, not bothering to put on the shoes that had lain abandoned at the foot of his bed since his incarceration began.

James Freeman, or rather the Operative who assumed that name, locked the door behind him by pressing his thumb against a small pad. "Walk with me," he said, gesturing ahead. Simon dumbly followed the instruction, still half-asleep.

"What do you want?" mumbled the Doctor, still talking through the veil of being newly awakened.

"The same thing you do."

"So...I can assume you're in the process of freeing me and my friends, and then proceeding to set yourself on fire?" guessed Simon. Freeman smirked and shook his head.

"I'm afraid not. But I am taking you to a research facility, where you will be free to work on a cure for your engineer."

Simon stopped walking. After a few paces Freeman followed suit.

"What?" asked the Doctor cautiously, now fully awake.

"We want to find a cure for infection, too, Doctor."

"You have a cure," said Simon, referring to the data given to him by the now-dead female Operative who had plagued them until recently. Freeman smiled again.

"We have preliminary findings," he said. "Which I'd hardly call a cure."

"What's the catch?" asked Simon.

"No catch."

"Yes, there is," said Simon. "So just out and tell me what it is, please."

"None aside from the obvious," shrugged Freeman. "Any of your findings will, by extension and natural progression, become our findings. But if you find a way to extract the xenomorph living in your girlfriend's chest cavity, we will allow you to attempt to remove it." Simon eyed him carefully, but Freeman could only laugh. "Doctor, I can appreciate your position. For the past few weeks you have been plagued with indecision after one of my kind pitted you against your crewmates in a psychological game. I can understand that the mental scars from that won't disappear overnight. But I assure you, this offer is genuine. Damage done – we have you here now. We'd rather a gifted mind like yours was allowed to produce data for our use than gestate in your cell for eternity."

"And you think I'll do this because it will save Kaylee?"

"Come, Doctor. I might not be playing subversive mental games with you, but I'm not an idiot. I _know_ you'll do it. You want something, and we want to know how you'd go about doing that. Let's help each other out."

"No."

"Doctor – "

"Take me back to my cell, please," Simon said flatly, staring straight ahead. After a moment, Freeman saw that he wasn't going to get anywhere, conceded the argument, and took the Doctor back to his cell as asked. As he locked the door, he smirked.

"He'll do it," he said with absolute conviction. Several hours later, the Operative received a page from Simon's cell, and shortly thereafter marched the Doctor, who walked in total, indignant, silence, to the previously mentioned research facility, where he started work on finding a cure to the alien infection.

**.:-:.:-:.:-:.**

The Rogue's lighter flew from his hand and smashed against the remnants of a heavy industrial wall as the Operative fell upon him. The light was poor and the weather conditions bad, and so his aim was slightly off – the assailant's sword plunged through the side of the Rogue's neck, narrowly missing his carotid artery but splitting the skin neatly. On a highly trained instinct the Rogue fell to the side almost instantly afterwards, removing himself from the weapon's cool metal. Halfway between throwing himself to the side and hitting the ground, the air flashed brightly with an electrical discharge, the heavy smell of static staining the atmosphere.

Having avoided the fatal emission of the assassin's weapon, the Rogue hit the ground, but the Operative was right behind him; the Rogue's reflexes saved him again as his armoured sleeve flew up and batted the blade away as it plunged towards his face, eager to end its owners mission and kill the renegade. The sword bounced across the concrete, the force of the Rogue's dismissal ejecting it from its master's hands. The attacking Operative fell upon the Rogue – his prey brought up his legs, blocking the other man's descent and flipping him over. The Operative wound up on his back, the Rogue sitting atop him, their hands finding each other's throats and squeezing hard.

The rain was the only noise, the clamour of the sudden struggle abruptly changing into a deadly silence. The men stared into each other's eyes, the Operative's devoid of emotion, the Rogue's filled with a quiet anger as both of their faces started to redden.

The Rogue grunted sharply as he felt the Operative beneath him start to aggravate the injury in his neck, the assassin's fingers digging into the flesh and expanding the wound. Blood began to flow more heavily from the puncture, and within seconds the Rogue was forced to relinquish his grip and retreat from the embrace of death. He staggered back as the Operative sprang to his feet, the beleaguered renegade clutching his neck in an attempt to stem the flow of blood. He was forced to abandon this venture as his enemy rushed forwards.

A savage flurry of blows was quickly exchanged before the Rogue's defences were overwhelmed, the Operative's fist breaking through and smashing the Rogue's nose. The man collapsed backwards, falling into a shallow puddle. The Operative surged forward, his flat eyes intent on the kill, when something small and grey buzzed quickly towards him.

With a sharp crack, a stone hit the Operative's skull and ricocheted off, halting the man's progress and forcing him to blink heavily, trying to shake off the trauma inflicted to his head. His pupils focussed on what was in front of him again just in time to see another blurred object, but this one human-sized.

Cullen leapt forward ineffectively, committing his whole weight to the charge – the Operative easily deflected the boy by moving slightly to the side, catapulting him onwards, using his momentum against him. Cullen skimmed across the ground, losing his balance and tumbling to a halt on the hard concrete far from his intended target. One look at the Rogue informed the Operative that one of his targets wasn't going anywhere for the next few minutes, and turned to take care of the boy.

Cullen was back on his feet to meet the Operative's attack. The assassin used quick, sharp jabs against the teenager, who frequently overcompensated on defence, swinging wildly to deflect attacks that warranted far less effort than applied. As a result, Cullen suffered the same fate as the Rogue, one armoured fist penetrating his defences and connecting sharply with his face. The boy fell back, the Operative surged forward, but in his current state, blinded by the pain coming from his nose, Cullen's unconscious responses took over. His hands snapped up, grabbing the Operative's final attack and utterly nullifying it. The teenager twisted around, pulling the Operative forwards as he screwed behind his attacker, bringing the man's arm with him. He pulled up harshly, breaking the man's forearm, and then kicked at the Operative's back, sending him spinning away. The assassin clattered to the ground as Cullen woke up to what he had done, able only to stare at his hands, startled by his unbidden actions.

"Stop trying so hard," came the Rogue's voice from behind. Cullen whirled to face his supposed mentor, who had presumably roused himself enough to simply stand and watch as the Operative had brutally beaten the boy.

"Thanks for the help," remarked Cullen sarcastically. The Rogue shrugged.

"I knew you'd be alright in the end." He nodded towards the prostate Operative. "As witnessed."

"Is this another test?" asked Cullen. "Like with my father?" He said the word cautiously – 'Father' – unwilling to deal with the associations of thinking about it too long just yet.

The Rogue sat down on a piece of abandoned, rusted machinery, one of his hands clutching his neck where blood was flowing slowly down beneath the seal of his armour. "No. He caught me off guard. It's a good job you showed up from your family reunion."

Cullen stiffened, regarding the Rogue warily. "What of it?" he asked.

"Nothing," said the Rogue.

They stood there in silence for a few moments longer before Cullen snapped.

"Well?" he demanded. "Aren't you going to ask me what I did to him in there?"

The Rogue considered, and then shook his head. "No."

"No? After all the trouble of setting up that situation for me?"

"No. Even after that. I told you – it's irrelevant, and I don't care. The past doesn't matter any more, just what we do from now on. You need to have that kind of emotional detachment, Cullen, or you'll be destroyed. You need to be at peace with the fact that you're a murderer now. A blinded weapon given sight. Woken up to what you really are."

"I'm not a murderer," snapped Cullen, responding automatically.

The Rogue's eyes drifted from the boy to a point behind him. Cullen turned to see what had captured his attention, and saw that the Operative was staggering to his feet, holding his broken arm gingerly. The rain spattering from his armour, appearing to cast him in an aura of spraying water.

"That's probably about to change," said the Rogue.

"You have to stop him," ordered Cullen as the Operative began to walk towards him, slowly but with a determined gleam in his eye. The Rogue remained seated.

"I don't have to do anything," he said. "He's coming for you, not me. Besides which," he said with some dramatic flair, holding his neck more tenderly. "I have an injury. A very debilitating injury that prevents me from actively participating in combat."

"But I haven't done this before!" cried the teenager, starting to move backwards and away from the advancing Operative. Blood ran from his nose. "You have to help me!"

"I wouldn't say too much more about your combat experience," advised the Rogue. "It just informs him about how easy it will be to kill you, even despite his injury."

"But I can't do anything consciously, I've only done this when the training takes over and does it for me…"

The Rogue stood up, his face flashing with thunder.

"_Enough!" _he roared, cutting off the boy. "Now you're either going to kill that man, or he's going to kill you, and that is simply the end of the matter! If it's the former, then I know I've made a wise investment of my time – if it's the latter, then I know to stop wasting it. I'm not going to protect you – I'm not your teacher, friend, or mentor," he said, repeating his earlier words. "And certainly I am not your father. Now stop being such a pampered child and _kill him!"_

The Operative reached Cullen. The fight was short and vicious – the Operative's uncaring experience overrode whatever conscious ability Cullen could bring to bear, and quickly the boy found himself on the ground again, rolling into a ball to protect himself from the brutal, accurate blows of his opponent. The Rogue sat back down on his improvised seat, watching the proceedings with great detachment.

Eventually the pain grew too great. Cullen's fear was overwhelmed by anger – a towering indignation that he – _he,_ Cullen Sheridan – was reduced to cowering like a beaten dog on the ground. This was beneath him. And his rage and embarrassment was focused onto the man doing it to him.

From a stationary position, Cullen leaped to his feet, catapulting himself into the air from lying totally prone. Completely caught off guard by this astonishing display of agility, the Operative had no choice but to receive the punishment Cullen doled out in retribution. The teenager swung heavily at the Operative, clumsily utilising the raw power of his unlocked training without any grace or finesse, blundering through the execution of highly stylised techniques with sheer force of personality. Rain sprayed from each of the males as they flitted through the downpour, the precipitation steadily building in its intensity.

The Operative fought back. Though his broken arm hung lamely at his side, his greater experience began to win out over Cullen's blind anger, the Operative's objectivity allowing him more control over his strategy. He hammered the teenager with attacks, Cullen's unarmoured body succumbing quickly to the heavy blows, while the boy's hits and kicks largely bounced harmlessly from the layer of metal protecting the larger, older man.

Overextending too far, Cullen was grappled heavily with the Operative's good arm, and he was flung away from the encounter with a force that ached through him as he hit the side of a collapsed building. He fell to his knees, his hands splattering the ground through the layer of water flowing there. He looked up at the approaching Operative through the cloud of rain, his eyes burning with a furious anger, when he saw the Rogue, still sat on his makeshift seat; still doing nothing to help him; still uncaring. Cullen's unstable confusion and rage flipped abruptly, and instead of seeing the Operative as his adversary, suddenly the Rogue was to blame for all of the ills in Cullen's life. _He_ had been the one to put him on that ship with Captain Reynolds and the others – _he_ had been the one to activate him, forcing him to try and kill his wary crewmates – _he _had deactivated Cullen's false personality, allowing the boy to remember everything the Alliance did to him at the Academy.

He leapt to his feet and made straight for the former Alliance Operative. The Rogue's expression did not change as the boy rushed towards him, his hand still holding the wound at his neck. Just as Cullen leaped at him, with apparently no effort he leaned to the side and deflected the boy's charge in an almost identical manner as the other Operative had done. Without even standing up, he turned around on the debris he sat on to regard Cullen as he picked himself up from where he had fallen.

"This won't do," said the Rogue. "I underestimated the strength of your anger. There is no conceivable way you will be of any material use to me." He paused for a moment, halting the rejection of his young charge, frowning as he noticed something. From where he crouched on the ground, his eyes still full of that insane rage, Cullen was not glaring at the Rogue. His gaze focussed on the Operative, who was slowly approaching from behind the bleeding man.

"_Wait,_" growled Cullen. He picked himself up off the ground. "Just _wait._"

The Operative walked straight past the Rogue and towards Cullen. He remained perfectly motionless until the bigger man reached the teenager and swung straight for his neck.

The teenager simply stopped trying so hard. He leaned back, avoiding the Operative's attack. Then he stepped aside to evade the next. Ducked to dodge the third. Allowing the training to take over, flowing through him rather than trying to wield it. What the Alliance did was a part of him now, no matter how he tried to fight it – instead of treating it as something foreign inside of him, he acted as though he _were_ the training, becoming it fully.

For almost a minute Cullen twisted and turned out of the way of the Operative's attacks, the man coming perilously close to contact on a few occasions but always missing. And the longer Cullen allowed himself to fall deeper into the pattern of his programmed training, the more he felt his rage ebb away. It was as though the act of violence was a sedative for him – giving him some release from his pent up emotions, and allowing him to be free.

Abruptly Cullen ducked underneath one of the Operative's strikes, grabbed his good arm and twisted upwards against the natural movement of the joint. Another sharp crack echoed severely from the ruins around them, followed by an involuntary bark of pain from the Operative, whose own training had not yet allowed him to fully circumvent instinctive bodily reactions. The teenager seized the seal of the other man's armour at the neck and pushed him forwards, propelling the man towards the remains of a large tank that might have been used for storing industrial coolant. At that moment, it had been steadily filling with rainwater since the downpour had begun.

As they reached the tank, Cullen's foot darted forward, tripping the Operative neatly. The man fell down and forwards, his head landing in the exposed level of water. With both arms painfully crippled, the Operative could only thrash with his legs and torso, but Cullen contained the man's efforts easily, holding his head below the surface of the small reservoir. His face was a mask as the attacker's struggling grew eventually weaker until he lay completely motionless, draped over the side of the tank. Cullen held on for several minutes after the Operative's movement ceased, making sure that the man was really dead, before he released his grip and stood from the scene of the killing.

He walked to where the Rogue had sat, watching him, and took a seat next to him.

"Maybe I was wrong about you," said the elder men, still holding his neck to stem the flow of blood from his wound. "You seem to warrant the effort after all."

The damaged teenager said nothing, simply staring ahead into space. For a moment the Rogue felt vaguely unsettled, aware that beneath the serene front he had no idea whatsoever about what kind of maelstrom was boiling within the boy after this newest trauma, but only for a moment. His main concern with the boy's mental health was that he might make another attempt on the Rogue's life, or worse, be rendered inert by the mental toll of the past few weeks, resulting in the former Alliance agent losing his most potent weapon.

But that moment passed, and the Rogue allowed himself the victory. As long as he could kill, Cullen remained a valuable tool. His long-term health was not a priority for the man. Only the destruction of the Alliance mattered now – all other concerns were secondary to that objective.

And halfway across the system, nestled in the secure warmth of a holding facility, Mal had been returned to his bunk, and sat seething with helpless rage. He had lost everything, now – the Alliance had succeeded in taking everything he ever cared about from him. He had drawn a line in the sand – his life was about to be destroyed, his name tainted as he was blamed for the imminent outbreak on Paquin, but all he could think was that this was the last straw. Before now he had been content to co-exist with the Alliance, if not happy, but at least at peace with the fact that there was nothing he could do to stop them.

That had changed with this latest development. The Alliance had taken the last scrap of his freedom and independence. He had lost his ship, and almost his crew with the mind games of the female Operative. And now this newest menace had locked them all away, supposedly for all eternity.

Enough was enough. They could push, and push, and sooner or later, there was a point when a man just couldn't take it any more. Would choose the hard path to fight back, instead of succumbing to his fate. And Mal had reached that point.

He didn't care how secure this facility was supposed to be. There was always a way through, or a way out, of every situation. He would bide his time, and sooner or later, the opportunity would present itself. And he would be waiting to seize that moment. And when he found his way from this place, he would make the Alliance pay for their actions.

Neither man knew it, but against all odds, they had proceeded through transformations in their personalities until now, weeks after it had all began, their mindsets had aligned. They were now the perfect allies for each other on their crusade to bring an end to the Alliance, despite everything else that had happened to them along the way.

The difficulty was finding each other in time to make a difference.

_A/N:_

_Horrendously overdue, and I can only apologise. Due to some kind of glitch in the Matrix, my Nightmare folder vanished from my hard drive. I'd almost finished the entire story having written it in chunks, and it was gone. So I started again from scratch. I'm getting this thing finished - expect the next chapter sooner than this one has been._


	32. Day Thirty Two: Now

**Day Thirty-Two**

**Now**

Kaylee sat in expectant silence, regarding the shadowy figures of Mal and Simon before her, but they remained silent. After a pregnant pause of a minute or more, the engineer finally broke it.

"Well?"

Mal's eyes flickered upward from where they had been staring at the deck pensively.

"Well what?"

"What happened next?"

Simon shrugged. "This," he said dejectedly, gesturing around him.

Kaylee couldn't quite believe her ears. "So...there was no big rescue? No huge escape attempt?"

Mal shook his head, looking more crushed than before.

Kaylee slumped, staring at the sheets of her medical bed. Simon stood up from his seat, eager to try and make her understand.

"I knew you'd feel like this," he said. "And I'm sorry. But there was nothing we could do. We woke you up because I think I've found a way to get that thing out of you. But we wanted to..."

"Ask me?" asked Kaylee, tears filling her eyes. Simon looked into those watery orbs and nodded his head, once, slowly.

"Yes."

"Because that's all you can do." Her words weren't an accusation, but they cut Mal as deeply as if they were. He rose silently and paced to the solitary viewpoint, a tiny circle of light in an otherwise blandly metallic bulkhead, the glimmering stars just barely peeking into their prison.

"Yes," said Simon sadly, feeling as though he had somehow betrayed his lover by their inability to have escaped.

"But what happened? Did they release those things on Paquin?"

Mal shrugged softly. "Don't know," he muttered. "Been locked up in here."

"Kaylee," interrupted Simon gently. "We really need an answer now that you're out of cryogenic suspension, every moment counts..."

"Just get it out of me," said Kaylee meekly, lying back on her bed. Simon regarded her helplessly for a moment, and then he arranged the injection that would put the girl under. As the doctor worked, Kaylee looked up just long enough to call out to the other man in the small room. "Cap'n?" she said.

Mal turned his head slightly.

"You'd better find a way to get us out of here," Kaylee said with an undertone of steel.

The Captain turned back to the viewport, and it might have been her imagination, but as Simon injected her with a sedative and she felt herself slip from reality, it seemed as though he did so with resolution and an iron bar in his spine.

As the Doctor and the Captain walked into the medical bay, each flanking the trolley that held the conscious engineer, James Freeman, the name the Operative holding the crew had assumed, watched impassively from a one-sided mirror above the operating room. One of his peers, another Operative, this one a female, stood in the same room as he, alertly monitoring a series of readouts.

"Will the Doctor succeed?" she asked of Freeman. He didn't turn around as he answered.

"I expect so. He wouldn't risk harm to the girl unless he thought there was a high chance of success."

"When will we transmit Tam's findings to High Command?" she asked.

Freeman considered the question. "Immediately," he said after a moment's thought. "Even if the procedure somehow fails, it would seem that the Doctor's research is mostly intact. Alliance Research and Development can complete the remaining steps of the project, and all we lose is the girl. Disposing of her body in a way that no one will ever find it may be problematic, but I'm confident we will concoct a solution over time."

The female nodded and immediately, efficiently, transmitted all of Simon's findings to the Alliance. The data burst was heavily encrypted before it was beamed across the depths of space in such a way that the most advanced scanners would have great difficulty in detecting.

But in the depths of the system, there was someone who was looking for the facility. Someone with a great depth of knowledge of Alliance operating procedures, whose sole purpose had become seeking out and releasing Malcolm Reynolds.

On the bridge of his vessel, the Rogue smirked as the console before him pinged cheerfully.

"Found you," he whispered.

**Two Days Later**

"_It's not safe to wake her yet!"_

"_Sorry Doc, no time."_

_She was vaguely aware of alarms ringing in the distance, a vast expanse from the unconsciousness she was being arisen from._

"_Kaylee!" said a voice closer than the alarms. It was somehow familiar. "If you can hear me, don't move as you wake up! You might go into shock!"_

_Suddenly there was a hand on her, gentle but firm, shaking her by the shoulder._

"_C'mon lil' Kaylee, rise and shine. Chickens come home to roost."_

_Reality faded a little closer to the engineer and she grumbled softly, not wanting to leave the numbing embrace of oblivion and return to the world of hurt and suffering she had left behind. But inexorably, she rose from the depths of her slumber until slowly, painfully, her eyelids flickered awake and she returned to semi-consciousness._

"Doc, we gotta move!" called Mal from the doorway that hung open as he leaned from it into the darkened corridor outside, illuminated in sharp bursts by the red of the emergency alarms. He smelled burning coming from the air vents – there was no evidence in his immediate field of vision, but somewhere on the facility something was burning to ash, and it wasn't going out.

All they knew was that moments earlier, as they sat watching carefully over the slumbering Kaylee, the deck beneath their feet had juddered greatly and the power had died. Mal had leapt, galvanised into action, to the doorway, knowing that this was their chance for escape.

Simon gently lifted the almost inert Kaylee into a sitting position and then slowly lowered her feet to the floor. Although barely aware of what was happening around her, the girl started to hold her own weight, leaning heavily into Simon who turned and nodded to the Captain.

"Let's go," he said.

Mal moved out into the corridor, followed slowly by the ailing engineer and her doctor escort. He waved them on. "C'mon, faster!" he called softly, the fire of imminent liberation in his veins. They had moved merely steps down the corridor when a furious voice echoed from behind them.

"_Reynolds!"_ roared one of their captors, flanked by two contemporaries, swords drawn and fire in their eyes. Mal immediately stopped and allowed his two crew members to pass.

"Get her off this rock," he hissed to Simon, who stopped for a moment, hesitating at the thought of leaving Mal behind to face down three elite Alliance assassins, but that moment passed as he thought of the girl leaning against him, relying on him to get her to safety.

He started away again, moving past Mal. "Good luck," Simon choked emotionally.

Mal set his feet apart, defenceless except for his fists and his resolve against the aggressors who marched towards him. Their mission to keep him alive and imprisoned looked like it might have run its course, but he'd been damned if they thought he was going down without fighting with every fibre of his being.

The Captain clenched his feet and tensed for imminent combat, and the Operatives were so intent on the battle before them they failed to see the threat that lurked nearby in the shadows. The flailing, severed head of the assassin to Mal's left soared through the air as the Rogue's blade slid neatly through skin, bone and cartilage, but the other two's reflexes kicked in quickly as they sprang back, away from the followup strike delivered by their adversary. The Rogue's sword showered sparks as it scraped along the decking, chipping a small fragment of plating into the air that pinged from the bulkhead.

Mal's response, not having received elite training by the Alliance, was correspondingly slower, and the sharp noise of the stray fragment of the floor spurred him into action. He surged forward with a roar, sweeping the nearest Operative into a rough embrace, grappling his arms around the man's armour and throwing his full body weight to the side, bringing them both tumbling to the ground in a mess of limbs as the Rogue struck again at the second remaining assassin, who deflected the attack deftly.

The invading Rogue and the second Operative swirled into a dancing melee, their blades flickering too fast for the eye to see as the captive Captain was lifted bodily into the air in one motion by his captor. He was slammed against the bulkhead as he clung to the Operative, the pain of the crushing impact not stopping him from lifting and burying his fist repeatedly into the base of the Operative's skull in the hopes of stunning him. His opponent tensed and ripped open the grip the Captain had around his armour, lifting him into the air and sending him to the decking with a grunt of extreme effort. Mal landed badly on his back, winded by the force of the impact, and just managed to deflect the Operative's fist as it fell towards the bridge of his nose. The crack that came from his fist as it hit the hardened metal could only have been at least one finger breaking, but the Operative didn't even wince as he grabbed Mal with his good hand by the front of his shirt and lifted him up once again. The Captain winced unconsciously, anticipating the clenched fist that was about to be driven into his face, but another human shaped blur impacted heavily against his opponent, staggering him away and leaving Mal to fall to the deck, kneeling.

Simon swung ineffectively with his fists, far from being a fighter, but with the same resolve that burned within Mal. The Operative deflected his attacks easily but it was enough to distract him from Mal's attack, all but rolling into his knees and sending the assassin crashing to the ground for the second time in less than a minute. With any sense of dignity gone, Simon leapt upon the Operative as Mal smothered the man, wrapping his arm around his face and squeezing tightly.

The assassin fought desperately but between the two prisoners his efforts were contained and the life was squeezed out of him, falling limp in Mal's arms and Simon regarding their captor with shocked eyes as he facilitated his second murder of another human being.

The Rogue finished his opponent with a vicious plunge of his blade, piercing the Operative's armour and triggering the electrical discharge of his weapon. The Alliance agent twitched violently and fell from the invader, devoid of life. The former Operative turned to regard the Captain and his crewman, who tensed for further combat. Simon glanced nervously at Kaylee, who he had left further down the corridor sat against the bulkhead. Even now she was not fully conscious, and she was exposed to the mercy of the Rogue.

"Don't worry about your girlfriend, Doctor," said their unlikely rescuer. "Do you really think I'd go to all of the effort of finding you here, in the most secret Alliance facility to have ever been constructed, just to kill you?"

Simon huffed. "Yes!" he barked. Then he looked sideways at Mal. "Right?" he asked, less certainly.

"Wrong, Doctor," said the Rogue. "I've come here to save you."

Mal snorted with derision as he clambered to his feet. "You've tried to kill us every other time we've met," he said. "Why the change?"

"Because a lot's different now, Captain," said the brooding Rogue. "I was trying to kill you because I thought it would be the best way to halt the Alliance's plans. I realise now that I was mistaken."

"Change of heart?" asked Simon, but the Rogue shook his head.

"No. I came to realise that I was thinking too small. Killing you would only stop one of their plans. The Alliance would still exist. What I want now is no less than the total destruction of the governing body, and you're of more use to me alive to fulfil that objective."

Simon glanced at Mal, who clenched his jaw. "So we're more useful to you alive?" he demanded. "What happens when that changes? You gonna try killin' us again?"

The Rogue shrugged. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," he said evenly. "I understand that you don't trust me, Captain, and I don't expect you to. But..." He spread his arms as if to encompass the facility around them. "...Do you see anyone else here to save you? Right now you've got two choices – come with me on my ship, or go back to your cell. What's it going to be?"

"We ain't friends," muttered Mal dangerously. "And this don't erase what's happened before."

"I'm sure that you'll find some way to make reparations later," replied the Rogue in an almost bored tone of voice.

Mal narrowed his eyes to slits, glowering at their saviour, but he rose to his feet and strode towards the rogue agent. He nodded once and strode past the former Operative, stooping to pick up his engineer, who moaned gently as he lifted her. "Let's go," he called over his shoulder. The Rogue smirked again. His plans were coming to fruition.

The deck rumbled at their feet as Mal hoisted the engineer to his chest. "What did you do?" quizzed Simon as they began to move down the corridor.

"We blew a hole in the side of the asteroid," said the Rogue. "It was most challenging to circumnavigate the sensor net, however we did so successfully. Had one of the guards been looking out of a window they'd have seen us approaching from a great distance. Unfortunately for them..."

"We?" asked Mal. "How big is this surprise party you're throwin'?"

"Just one more," replied the renegade Alliance agent. "But he's the very life and soul. I believe you've made his acquaintance before now."

"Cullen," said Mal, and the Rogue nodded. Simon's face fell, aghast.

"My God, what have you done to that boy?" he demanded. The Rogue shrugged.

"Nothing that he hadn't been taught by somebody else."

The deck rattled again under them again ominously. Ever since Cullen Sheridan had rampaged through their loaned Firefly-class vessel, nearly killing them all and destroying the vessel in the process, every time he thought of the ailing teenager gave Simon chills down his spine. He had turned within seconds from an arrogant but ultimately harmless upper-class teenager into...some _thing._ The Doctor recalled looking into his eyes and seeing an empty chasm, everything human hollowed out by scientific tampering and replaced by a savage purpose. It was something he had seen in brief moments in his sister River's eyes, but whatever the Alliance had been trying to do to her, they had succeeded with Cullen. And now they were being rescued by him.

"The others?" barked Mal over the screeching of an emergency alarm as they passed underneath it.

"Being retrieved as we speak," called the Rogue. "We'll be underway in less than one minute."

"There were more guards," said Simon. "Lots more."

"Don't worry about them," answered the Rogue as they turned a corner in the corridor and came face to face with the others from the late _Serenity._ Without any conscious thought Mal found himself in a tight embrace with Inara, holding her as if they would never let go, Kaylee caught between them like a buffer. He looked past her at the crew he had been locked away from for over two weeks, with each of them being kept in solitary confinement.

Zoe looked as terse and as ready for battle as she always did, ever a dependable right-arm to have the Captain's back. Next to her stood the synthetic version of Wash the Alliance had created as part of the elaborate deception to enlist the crew's help enacting Project Nightmare. He looked exactly as the deceased pilot did, and had been programmed to act in the same way based on tapes recorded by the government during the organic Wash's many times in police custody. He seemed calm considering the situation, though frequent glances at Zoe were not returned as she was still shutting him out despite their prolonged captivity. Simon's sister River paced slowly from one side of the corridor to the other in slow, well timed steps as though she was preparing to dance to some beat that only she could hear and none of the others.

Finally Mal broke from his embrace with the Companion and looked her over – she looked healthy and unharmed, as did the rest of his crew. Though they had been held against their will, they had not been mistreated. Faint scarring still pockmarked her face as a result of brief and passing exposure to the acidic blood of the xenomorph that had been responsible for the destruction of _Serenity,_ but to Mal she would always be beautiful. She was holding a long blade, the same style the Operatives were using – she must have sequestered it from one of their fallen guards. But then he frowned as he realised he was missing a man.

"Where's Jayne?" he asked of the others. A moment later the big mercenary walked towards them from the shadows of the corridor behind the others. He too was unharmed but strode with a stunned expression and wide eyes.

"Jayne, what's wrong?" asked Inara. He shook his head at them.

"You do _not_ want to go back there," he muttered gruffly, striding right past them all through a doorway set into the bulkhead.

The Rogue waved them all on after Jayne. "Go on, it's all right," he announced. "We have a ship docked with the facility, we need to get out of here right now. Follow me." He walked through the doorway.

Mal nodded affirmation and his crew began to file through after Jayne and the Rogue, with the Captain holding back. Simon approached him with an incredulous look on his face.

"Mal, you don't seriously think we can trust that man?" he demanded.

"C'mon, Doc, it'll be a cold day in Hell before we trust him. But like he said – I don't see anyone else linin' up to save us and I ain't about to look a gift horse in the mouth when it says it's gonna bust us outta interplanetary prison," replied the Captain. "Here, take her," he said, passing the now unconscious Kaylee to the Doctor. "Go catch up with the others."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm gonna see what got Jayne so spooked."

"Do we have time?"

"I'm makin' the time. Go on, get goin'."

Simon complied and ducked through the doorway leaving the Captain alone aside from the bleating sound of the emergency alarm. He moved swiftly down the corridor Jayne had emerged from, not knowing what he was going to find but sensing that the Rogue would rather he didn't see it. He rounded the corner and couldn't help but gasp.

Fresh blood flowed from the many wounds of the slaughtered mass of guards, their corpses scattered almost artistically along the narrow strip of metal. The lights had since died, but the stark scene was illuminated grimly every time the alarms flickered along the ceiling. Crimson streaked up the walls in sharp sprays, evidently caused by a long, sharp object in a gory display of extreme violence.

Mal stepped tentatively around the corner and moved cautiously along the corridor of death. Guards and technicians were scattered all about, torn apart by what looked to be a variety of different weapons, with some being shot, some stabbed, and some brutalised in such a way that could only mean someone had used their bare hands. There must have been at least two dozen bodies lying contorted in that narrow stretch of metal, grimly illuminated in flickering light as the sparks showered from the overloaded power conduits in the bulkheads.

Halfway down was an open doorway, and Mal felt trepidation as he approached in. Logically he knew that whoever had visited this destruction upon the Alliance crew, it was for the purposes of their escape, but even as a veteran soldier he had never seen such a gross display of violence.

Except...during the siege of Mr Universe's facility, when the blast doors had opened to reveal River, still alive, standing over the massacred Reaver dead with a weapon in each hand.

He entered the doorway.

"Hello, Captain," said a young voice. Much too young to be responsible for the carnage outside.

"Hello, Cullen."

The teenager stood in a small control room, the walls of which were entirely glass. The boy was working on a display console that was flickering weakly, data streaming from the monitor faster than Mal could read it. The dim light faintly illuminated Cullen's face showing it to be smeared with the blood of the dead outside. Something old and primal stirred in the pit of Mal's stomach, and a moment later he realised why. After River had fought off the Reavers, she was hardly in pristine condition but there was no blood on her face. The manner of the slaughter in the corridor outside, coupled with Cullen's excessive exposure to the substance, indicated that it was not simple efficiency that had been applied – rather, the act of someone who had enjoyed what had happened.

"You should be with the others," said Cullen in a soft voice.

"And you shouldn't?" returned the Captain. Cullen shook his head slowly.

"Not yet. I have a task here to complete."

"And what's that?" asked Mal as he arrived at the boy's side.

A final screen appeared, displayed its data and then Cullen hit a button and it died. He looked at the Captain with emotionally dead eyes.

"Now it's done," he said. "We should go." He turned and walked away from the room.

Mal peered through the glass down at the room below. There was a table there with a bank of medical monitors and a full assortment of tools for surgery around it. It wasn't the room Simon had used to heal Kaylee. All around him in the control room were computer units for processing and analysing vast amounts of data.

"Captain, come on!" called Cullen from outside, and on reflex Mal exited and followed him back along the corridor. As he strode something else occurred to him – the Operative named Freeman had told them that they were being guarded on a secret, unique facility. Why would there be technicians and an extensive surgical unit built here?

He and Cullen reached the doorway the others had exited through earlier. He stopped the teenager by grabbing him by the shoulder. The boy eyed Mal's hand dangerously but he allowed himself to be stopped.

"What was that place?" asked the Captain.

"It might be better you don't know," replied Cullen. "We need to go."

They emerged in a small docking bay containing a Firefly class vessel – the same one Mal and the others had last seen on Paquin, before they had been captured by James Freeman and imprisoned here.

"How did you get _that_ here?" gaped Mal. The Rogue shrugged from where he crouched over an open engineering panel, working furiously.

"Some money and some effort," he said. Mal briefly, insanely, considered that the Rogue had brought this vessel for his own benefit, as a kind of gift, but then reality came crashing back and he realised that if anything, the Rogue had brought it here as an insult to the institution of the Alliance – that not only had he successfully covertly assaulted a top secret facility, but that he had done so in the vessel most obviously associated with the prisoner he was springing from captivity.

"Get on board," said Cullen to Mal. Then, to the Rogue: "Three are unaccounted for."

"Operatives?" asked Mal.

The Rogue nodded once. "Yes, Captain. Three is acceptable." Something passed between the Rogue and the younger man – not quite approval, maybe closer to satisfaction. Either way the boy looked visibly more relaxed.

"How much longer?" Cullen asked of the man who had seemingly become his mentor.

"It's done," he said. Mal glanced unsurely between them.

"What's done?"

The Rogue stood up and briefly showed the Captain a small digital readout displaying a countdown. "In fifteen minutes the reactor to this facility will detonate in a nuclear blast that will incinerate everything in the immediate vicinity."

"Well then," said Mal. "We'd best get a move on."

The three men, now bound by fate, boarded the Firefly via the rear.

Mal felt a surge of pride in his chest as he observed his crew scrambling with activity as they went from the rear cargo ramp to the bridge. Everything was much as they had left it – even the cup Mal had been using before they had disembarked was still on the table in the mess. They strode onto the bridge to find Zoe in the pilot's chair and Wash hovering anxiously beside her.

"Report!" barked Mal.

"We've got bad news, Cap'n," replied Zoe tersely. "There's an Alliance cruiser out there."

"Ah," said the Rogue. "It would appear that the alarm has alerted a patrol."

Mal turned on the renegade agent. "You knew 'bout this?"

"No. Everyday military personnel wouldn't have been made aware of this facility. But the success of our raid has set off any number of alarms, one of which presumably being a general distress beacon that has attracted a nearby patrol. However, the nature of the alarm will indicate to the commander of the cruiser that deaths have been reported and to actively engage any hostile targets."

"Great," said Wash. "We get this far to freedom and cut down right at the line."

"We're not out yet," said Mal. He moved to look over Zoe's shoulder. "How long have we got?"

"We're shielded by the debris field," she replied after consulting the digital readout. "We should be able to slip by if we have a low enough power output."

"If they detect us they will destroy the vessel," said the Rogue as Simon walked on to the bridge.

"How's Kaylee?" Mal asked.

"She's coming to," replied the doctor.

"Good. We'll need her sooner than later." He turned back to Zoe. "How low output is low output?"

"Minimal," she said. "All major systems powered down, not even a spark of the thrusters."

"Gonna be hard to move around all of that debris with no thrusters," said Wash. "If we move, the cruiser gets us. If we don't, we get flattened by stray rubble. Rock and hard place, anyone?"

"We have to risk it," asserted Mal. "If we decompress the docking bay with us still in it, will it give us enough inertia to get past the debris field?"

Wash shrugged. "Maybe. Depends what we hit 'tween here and there."

"And it won't provide us with enough to escape the nuclear explosion that will take place in..." added the Rogue, consulting the small handmade timer of the remaining time before the reactor went into meltdown. "...A little over twelve minutes."

"What's that?" asked Wash, as if he hadn't heard the Rogue speak.

"Twelve minutes, boom," said Cullen quietly from the corner.

Mal nodded assertively. "All right. Simon, go and get Kaylee. Zoe, call the others up here." His two crew scrambled to complete their tasks as Mal turned to the Rogue. "Can we interface with the facility computers from here? Explosively decompress the entire base via the docking bay?"

The renegade agent nodded. "Of course. I'll set it up momentarily." He started working at a terminal as the crew filtered onto the bridge, including a blinking heavily but conscious Kaylee. Mal looked at each of them proudly, knowing what they were about to achieve.

"We've been through a lot," he said. "Each of us has sacrificed, and each of us has lost. And I gotta make this brief, 'cause the bedrock we stand on is gonna go sky high in about ten minutes, but we've got to pull together and we've got to do it right first time, because otherwise we're all gonna die."

"No pressure," muttered Wash.

"For those who don't know," continued Mal, "There's an Alliance cruiser out there. If it detects us, it will destroy us. So the plan is to blow the air through the docking bay, and drift on inertia 'til we're far enough away from the thing to make a jump away in time to escape the nuke blast. There is no margin for error here. We've got one shot at escape, and we're gonna make it. Kaylee, I need you down in the engine room for when we power up. Everyone else, stand by up here."

The Rogue turned from his console. "It's set up," he said, and the Captain moved to his side.

"Good work," said Mal. Then he lowered his voice to escape the attention of the others. "Your boy," he said to the Rogue. "Are we gonna have a problem with him?"

"He'll do as I tell him, Captain," said the Rogue. "If he wanted you dead, you would be already." His statement was made all the more chilling by the virtue that Cullen had slipped from the bridge without any of them noticing, and that he was now whereabouts unknown.

Mal stepped back to the centre of the bridge and stood among his crew, those who had shared such hardship and grief, and those who were now about to escape the long arm of the Alliance after being subject to such abject hopelessness. And after such a long stretch of inactivity, he felt an almost guilty surge of exaltation as they sprang once again into action, even if it was under somewhat dubious circumstances.

"Punch it," he ordered, and their desperate escape began.


	33. Day Thirty Six: Escape

**Day Thirty Six**

**Escape**

There was a violent shudder as the ship was sucked out of the tiny docking bay, accompanying the explosive decompression into the vacuum that existed outside the asteroid. Three seconds after it exited, Zoe initiated a half-second burst of the engines that propelled the vessel further towards the debris field, and then started to flip switches and dials on the control board in front of her.

Mal leaned back into the doorway that led down into the mess hall. "Kaylee, now!" he called. The noises that had only so recently been turned back on, giving the vessel life, now began to flicker and die all around him as the engineer started to kill the ship's systems, until finally the lights died above him. The only illumination was provided by the stars and the single dimmed monitor that gave the readouts for the close range sensor system. Even the air filters ground to an eventually fatal halt. Not unconsciously Mal began to take more measured breaths. With the ship having been in a powered down state for so long, there would be next to nothing left in the oxygen canisters, and they had no way of knowing how long they would be expected to hide from the Alliance in the debris field. Assuming they even made it that far.

A blip appeared on the readout. "Here they come," announced Zoe tersely. She was leaning so close to the monitor her face was eerily lit by the weak light of the screen. The rest of the bridge was blackness.

The small crowd stared intently out of the forward screen, but nothing except hulks of scrap floating in the dead of space could be seen. "Where?" muttered Wash, frowning and peering with his synthetic eyes. "Where, gorram it?" The others were silent, but Simon's knuckles were white as he gripped the forward rail, and even River looked troubled.

"Reliable as death," whispered the Rogue. "They're there."

The dense debris cloud shifted slightly as the Firefly entered the boundary, and abruptly the light of the sun flooded the bridge. From total darkness to complete illumination in less than a second – the crew threw their hands up in an attempt to guard their sight, but it was too late. Mal blinked fiercely but all he could see was a bright orange blur.

One being was immune to the effects of the system's star. Wash gently lifted Zoe from the pilot's chair and took her place at the controls, squinting against the atomic light but able to withstand the blinding effect it had on the humans. "They're getting closer," he stated worriedly.

"How close?" demanded Mal, still furiously blinking in an attempt to clear his vision. Wash looked up from the controls, not needing to consult them any more. Darkness washed over the bridge in a wave, starting at their feet and sweeping upwards. The Alliance cruiser was directly ahead of them, so massive that it blotted out the light of a star. As a collective everyone stopped moving, as if it would prevent the cruiser from detecting their presence.

"Not so close that you could spit at them and hit the hull," muttered Wash. "But give it a few seconds and ask again."

"Are we in complete shutdown?" asked Mal.

"I ruttin' hope so," said Jayne. "Else everyone better enjoy their last moment alive."

"Complete shutdown," confirmed Wash. "Except for the proximity sensor."

"Shut that down too," instructed Mal, and after a moment even the solitary computer monitor went dark. "Simon, River, I want you to go to the engine room and lock yourselves inside with our Kaylee. Inara, you head to the shuttle."

Simon obeyed the instruction with a rare speed, leading River carefully towards the mess hall, but the Companion glared at Mal, still trying to clear her vision of the sun's afterburn.

"Mal, you said it yourself. There's no escaping them this time. What good will the shuttle be in this situation?'"

The Captain looked perplexed. "Who said anythin' about escapin'? Shuttle's got a weaker power signature than our bigger bird. I want you to boot up the short range sensors and tell us if our pals outside spot us."

"Oh. Right," she said. "Okay." With a confused shake of her head she exited after the Tams.

"What's your plan?" asked the Rogue.

Mal regarded the monstrous vessel looming outside, hunting them, his eyes starting to be able to discern individual lights in its hull. "Pray," he said.

"I didn't know you were a religious man, Captain."

"I'm not. But right now that's all we got left."

The Firefly drifted closer to the Alliance cruiser on inertia.

"I'll leave you to your prayer," said the Rogue, walking towards the door.

"Where do you think you're goin'?" demanded Mal. The Rogue glanced at him without slowing down.

"If you recall, there were three Operatives unaccounted for on board that asteroid. I'm going to patrol the ship."

"You don't think one of them could have...?" started Mal. The Rogue whirled and cut him off in mid-sentence.

"I think that right now the one point two kilometre long warship hunting us outside might not be the most dangerous thing in this debris field. Shout if you see anything suspicious." He left the bridge.

"Well he is just a peach," muttered Wash at the pilot's console. Zoe glanced sideways at him and exited the bridge wordlessly to prowl the corridors of the ship.

"I'd get used to him being around," replied Mal begrudgingly. The low wave radio crackled in his hands.

"_Mal, I've loaded the proximity sensor on the shuttle,"_ floated Inara's voice from the handset. _"Will they detect this transmission?"_

"They shouldn't," he replied. He took his hand off the transmitter button. "I hope," he added.

"_Good. I'll call if something is going to smash into the ship."_

Mal regarded the pieces of scrap metal whizzing past the forward screen helplessly. Wash put voice to the thought in the Captain's head. "You think it'll make any difference if we see it coming or not? The ship's completely dead."

"Stow that talk," instructed Mal, but his tone lacked any steel. Wash was right. If a large enough piece of debris hit the ship, that would be all – it wouldn't matter if the Alliance found them or not in such an eventuality. They couldn't manoeuvre to avoid it. But it gave Inara something to focus on.

Metal rattled against the hull, as if sensing the fear within the humans crowded inside the small vessel. Minor clangs gave way to large clatters, culminating in a crash that sent Mal reaching for the handrail to steady himself. He could see the trajectory of the ship visibly alter – the cruiser headed their way shifted slightly upwards and partially out of view. Partial glare from the star edged past it to light the bridge, but not as painfully as before.

"_The proximity sensor's going haywire!" _reported Inara from the shuttle as the ship bucked violently again. Mal glanced anxiously at the co-pilot's station on reflex, but the monitors were all dark. His fears went unanswered.

"We'll clear it in a minute," he said into the radio, only his eyes betraying his unease.

Jayne appeared in the doorway brandishing the timer for the nuke. "We got nine minutes til that thing goes up," he reported tensely. "And I ain't no astrophysicist but I'm pretty sure we ain't at minimum safe distance."

"One step at a time," replied the Captain. Jayne glared at him angrily.

"We ain't got time for one step at a," he growled. "If we don't move, we're gonna get smashed by somethin' in that debris field." The deck rattled with another impact, as if for emphasis.

"If we move, the Alliance shoots us outta the sky," snapped Mal.

"So even if we somehow survive the field, in nine minutes it ain't gonna matter anyhow!"

Mal whirled on the other man. "Jayne, I need you to..."

Had the ship been powered, the next impact would surely have caused sparks to shower from nearby monitors and for something in the engine room to catch fire. Such as things were, only the crew were immediately effected by the most severe impact yet – thrown to the deck and into bulkheads violently. Jayne smashed his head against a darkened console, and the air rushed out of Mal's lungs as he landed heavily on the deck. Wash was thrown from the pilot's chair but as he had no biology to effect, he was immediately back in place, staring worriedly through the viewport as it was all he could do.

"Wash!" Mal groaned. "How far is the cruiser?"

The synthetic pilot gestured helplessly at the console. "Sorry, Mal, I left my crystal ball back in my prison cell."

"Your eyes," snapped the Captain as he sat up painfully. More debris rattled against the ship.

Wash stared at the cruiser which was now above them, heading in the opposite direction, with his synthetic eyes. He pursed his lips as he thought, gauging the distance. "Maybe...six klicks?" he said.

A stone's throw in astronomical terms. Mal got to his feet. "Jayne?" he asked, but the mercenary was out cold. The Captain retrieved the timer from his limp hands. Eight and a half minutes. Something clattered against the hull above their heads. Mal groaned and went to stand next to the pilot. "Wash. We're gonna leave it another minute and then power up the engines, get clear of the debris field and engage the..."

"Wait," said Wash, holding up his hand distractedly. "Something's on the roof."

"Yeah, did you miss the debris field we're flyin' through? Sent us on our asses a moment ago? Did you hit your head?"

"Mal, since when did debris hit the hull and then _clamber along it?"_ asked Wash pointedly. Mal shut up. There was a faint patter of something moving across the outside of the ship directly above them, moving aft.

"What the hell?" he muttered. "Somethin' caught on the comms array?"

Wash glanced at the Captain pityingly. "When has our luck ever been that good?" he asked. Mal regarded him a moment and then thumbed the radio quickly.

"Inara. I want you to look out of the starboard window in there, tell me what you see."

In the shuttle, the Companion frowned at the request but moved quickly to comply, sensing the urgency in Mal's voice. She peered from the smaller vessel at the hull of the larger one it was attached to, eyes scanning for anything unusual. She activated the radio.

"I don't think..."

Then she saw it. Him.

"Mal! She cried. "There's a man in an evac suit climbing along the outside of the ship! He's right above you! Get out of there!"

Too late. The man skittered away from the bridge as a small pinpoint explosion flared, accompanied by a rush of oxygen seeping from the fracture in the hull. He kept heading aft and was out of Inara's line of sight in an instant.

"Mal!" she cried into the radio. Nothing. "_Mal!_" She rushed to the other side of the shuttle to look at the cruiser. Saw it start to turn back towards them. They had detected the explosion. The ship rattled as another piece of debris hit it. Inara took a deep, shaking breath to take control of her racing emotions, and then ran as fast as she could back into the Firefly, picking up her sequestered Operative's blade as she did so. "Anyone!" she called into the radio. "Can anyone hear me?" There was no answer as she raced through the cargo bay, an ever-louder hiss assaulting her ears as she neared the bridge through the darkened mess hall. She had heard the sound before – oxygen escaping a pressurised environment into the uncaring void of space. She reached the bridge just as Wash was sealing it from the outside. Mal and Jayne lay unconscious in the corridor leading to the living quarters. The door clanged shut with a dreadful finality, closing the corridor off from the light of the star. Inara felt dreadfully cold and alone.

"What happened?" demanded the synthetic engineered to look and act like the dead Hogan Washburne.

"Someone on the outer hull," gasped Inara, trying to catch her breath from her desperate race through the Firefly. "Are they okay?"

Wash shrugged. "They're alive."

"They know we're here. They're coming for us."

Wash absorbed this quickly. "Then I'd say it's about time we got the hell outta Serenity Valley," he remarked as he stooped and picked up the timer from Mal's hands, the second such time it had been retrieved in less than a minute.

"Right. Fire up the ship and escape," stated Inara. "Engine room."

The pair turned and dashed back through the ship, the deck shuddering beneath them as more debris impacted the ship. Once Wash stumbled and fell against the mess hall table but the Companion all but dragged him to his feet, urging him onwards. Upon reaching the engine room Inara peered against the small window so the three locked inside would know it was her, and they were quickly ushered inside.

"What's goin' on?" asked Kaylee in a small voice as she and Simon clung nervously to one another. River sat with her back to the Firefly's engine, stroking it gently as if it were an ailing pet.

"We're getting out of here," said Inara. "Kaylee, how long do you need to get the ship activated?"

"But won't the Alliance detect us..?"

"They already have," said Wash softly. Kaylee's eyes widened with fear.

"Kaylee, how long?" demanded the Companion.

"Uhm..." Kaylee mumbled as she tried to gather her thoughts. "Uhm, maybe ten minutes to get the critical systems online."

"Engines. All we need are the engines and navigation," said Wash, with Simon nodding silent consent to this.

"Okay, then three, four minutes at the outside," said the engineer.

Inara nodded. "Get started." As the young girl scrambled to begin activating the ship's engines, yet another piece of debris smashed into the vessel, sending everyone stumbling.

"Next hurdle," said Wash. "In order to fly the ship, I need to be sitting at the pilot's console."

"How's that a hurdle?" asked Simon.

"Because that room just got depressurised and all of the air sucked out of it," informed Inara. She turned to Wash. "But you don't need to breathe."

"No. But we can't open the hatch to the bridge without risking decompressing the rest of the ship."

"So cut your way in from outside," said the Companion, thinking quickly as only being at the ends of your desperate nerves allows. Wash looked incredulous, but only for a moment.

"Yeah, actually, that could work," he agreed. "There's already a hole in the ceiling."

"Next hurdle?" asked Simon. Inara sighed.

"Only three more. The Alliance cruiser; the nuclear warhead on the asteroid; and the man who just planted an explosive charge outside the bridge."

"An Operative?" demanded Simon.

"Almost certainly," said a voice from the doorway. The Rogue had approached without anyone noticing. "I'll take care of him."

"Just like that?" asked Simon, glaring at the newcomer to their fellowship.

"Yes," he said simply. "The cruiser will likely be seeking a weapons lock as we speak, but the ship is still dark. They only detected the small explosion and the vessel has already drifted beyond those co-ordinates. They have it narrowed down but don't have an exact fix yet. Besides which the debris field will be making it difficult for them to get a clear reading. If it doesn't smash the ship apart, the debris may be the thing that saves us."

"So they _haven't_ detected us?" asked Wash, confused. The Rogue glanced at him in passing.

"If they had, we'd be blasted into pieces by now. If we only power the engines and navigation, our power signature might be masked enough for us to escape detection long enough to clear the debris and escape."

"How long before the nuke blows?" asked Inara.

Wash consulted the timer. "Six minutes," he said bleakly. He, Simon and Kaylee stopped, deflated, upon this announcement. Inara nodded assertively, the fear fading from her body, replaced by a tense alertness.

"We can do this," she said with such certainty that merely by speaking them Kaylee continued with the start-up sequence, spurred into action. "Wash, give me the timer. Get into an evac suit. You might not need to breathe but I'll need to speak to you. Get into the shuttle, fire up all of the systems, and then head outside through the airlock on board. After you're on the outside of this ship, release the docking clamps manually and let the shuttle drift away. It takes a minute for the engines to cycle so it'll be away from us before it fully activates. With any luck it will divert the cruiser away from us when they detect it. After that, head to the bridge." He stood there looking at her. "Go!" she barked, galvanising him into action. He sped away towards the shuttle.

"Me?" asked Simon, waiting for instructions.

"Stay here. Help Kaylee. Do exactly as she says. If it shaves a second off the start-up sequence then do it. Remember – nothing except the engines and navigation. We won't need to breathe if we're vaporised in an atomic explosion. We'll tackle that problem later."

"How long will it take for the explosion to catch up to us, once the bomb goes off?" The Doctor was addressing the Rogue, but it was River who answered, still staring vaguely into space, stroking the engine absently.

"Most of the asteroid will be instantly vaporised," she said softly. "The remaining debris will be flung in every direction, but that's not what you have to be wary of. The electro-magnetic pulse will disable everything within two thousand kilometres. That happens instantly. The ship will drift without power until it's swept up in the nuclear blast fifteen to twenty seconds later, a furious mixture of the debris field, the remains of the asteroid, and if you're really unlucky, parts of the broken up Alliance cruiser. The ship will be destroyed, but the crew will likely survive long enough to asphyxiate as the vessel is smashed to pieces around them, exposing them to the vacuum of space." She looked Simon in the eye. "In theory. There is no such documented incident on record for comparison."

"That _you_ know about," said the Rogue to the girl, but he didn't disagree with her. Inara glared at him with steel.

"You've got an Operative to kill," she told him, and he simply nodded once and moved to complete his allocated task. She moved to the doorway and readied herself to seal the door, consulting the timer first. "A little over five minutes. Get it done."

Kaylee spared a second to smile weakly over her shoulder as the Companion slid the door shut and then Simon locked it from inside. The dead vessel rumbled as the shuttle was released and more debris impact rattled the decking. "Now for my job," muttered Inara. "Be bait for the bad guy." She unsheathed the sword she had taken from one of their fallen guards on the asteroid and began to pace uncertainly along the corridor towards the mess hall.

"_I'm away," _floated Wash's voice through the radio. _"It'll take me a couple of minutes to cut the hole big enough for me to access the bridge."_

"Be faster," was all Inara replied into the small box. The mess hall was in utter darkness, every corner a potential danger as her eyes began to play tricks on her. A faint shaft of flickering light starting to pulse through the tiny viewport of the door to the bridge as Wash began to cut through the hull to allow him access. She could see Mal and Jayne still slumped on the deck nearby – but the cutter's light betrayed a third shadowy figure stooped over them. Inara's heart began to pulse faster in her chest as she stalked along the walkway. She as she was entering range to attack the figure turned, and Inara gasped as she raised the sword over her head to strike.

"Zoe," she whispered. "I almost cut your head off."

The first mate looked somewhat stunned herself. "Glad you didn't," she said. "What happened to them?"

"There's an Operative," said Inara. "In a suit, outside the ship. He bombed the bridge and Jayne and Mal got caught inside." She hesitated for a moment. "Wash saved them," she added, and Zoe's face was an impassive mask.

"So what's the plan now?"

"He's cutting his way in from the outside, and Kaylee is..." started Inara, but her voice faded to silence as the thrum of power began to hum through the decking and the lights began to slowly flicker to life. "What the..." She raised the radio to her lips. "What's going on?" barked Inara as she and Zoe began to race towards the mess hall. "Why is all power being restored?"

"_It's not us!"_ cried Kaylee's alarmed voice through the radio. _"The systems are all just...they're coming online!"_

"Which ones?"

"_All of 'em! They're gonna detect us for sure!"_

Zoe grabbed the radio from Inara's hand. "Kaylee, can you tell us where the systems are being activated from?"

"_Uhm, yeah, the...uh, the upper cargo bay corridor."_

Inara and Zoe shared a glance and then separated, each going a different way to get to the corridor in question. She didn't know how, but somehow the Operative had gotten inside the ship and was powering up everything he could in order to get the attention of the cruiser hunting them in the debris field. The Companion hurriedly checked the timer – a little under three minutes remained before the nuclear blast ripped the ship apart. She pushed herself a little bit harder.

"Wash!" barked Inara into the radio as she bounded down the stairs to the infirmary.

"_I'm nearly through,"_ he replied. _"Thirty more seconds."_

"Once you are, take evasive action. We've almost certainly been detected by the cruiser – focus on evading their fire and positioning us for a clean jump away before the nuke goes off." She entered the cargo bay and began running up the stairs there.

"_Anything else you want doing while I'm up here? Sweep the floor, dust the shelves..?"_

"Wash, just..." began Inara, but she stopped when she heard Zoe's bark of effort and pain from above her. Her run turned into a sprint.

She emerged into the upper corridor to the sight of a familiar male holding Zoe around the neck with his sword held to her throat. It was one of their guards from the asteroid prison. Halfway along a panel had been ripped loose and somehow he had overridden the main ship's access and used it to activate anything with a power signature big enough for the cruiser to detect. Inara held her sword at the ready and began to advance on the Operative.

"Stay back, or I'll kill her," he warned in an even tone. Zoe struggled but couldn't escape his armoured grasp.

"We're all gonna die anyway!" she roared. "He's just stalling until they can blow up the ship!"

"She's right," said another voice from beyond the hostage. The Rogue was approaching from the other direction, his own blade drawn. "It would be wiser to sacrifice her and do what we can to minimise the impact of this man's actions."

"No!" barked Inara. "There has to be another way."

"There isn't!" yelled Zoe desperately, the Operative dragging her against the bulkhead to cover his back.

"You're playing directly into his hands," explained the Rogue, a sliver of impatience creeping into his voice. "He's expecting this kind of emotional reaction."

"What do you suggest?" cried Inara.

"We rush him," said the Rogue. "Zoe dies, but so does he."

"It's the way it's gotta be," urged Zoe from the grasp of their aggressor. "Before time runs out."

Inara felt herself approach a very difficult decision, but before she could vocalise any thought she might have had suddenly the deck lurched violently beneath their feet and the entire vessel was rocked by a concussive blast, forcing Inara almost in one motion to her knees and then slamming her sideways into the bulkhead.

Wash's voice crowed from the radio as he evaded the attacks of the cruiser, which must have just opened fire at them, and crucially his actions allowed another sequence of events to unfold in the corridor. The abrupt action of the ship loosened the Operative's grip on Zoe and she managed to shake free of his grasp, a split second before the second concussive blast threw them both apart. Inara raced forward and all but dragged Zoe to her.

Recovering quickly the Rogue plunged forward with his weapon but it was deflected instantly, the Operative even succeeding in disarming the Rogue completely and moving to strike with his own blade. The Rogue caught his sword-arm as it began to descend, grabbing the man's throat with his other and slamming him into the bulkhead. The Operative pushed back, forcing the Rogue into the opposite wall, and then the decking gave way once again to one of Wash's manoeuvres and they tumbled away from Zoe and Inara. They fell to the floor and rolled along it like some kind of manic snowball, a flailing tangle of striking limbs and spitting blood. The Operative's blade skittered away down the corridor and away into the cargo bay, betraying him to the cause of gravity, lost to his use.

Zoe and Inara clung to dear life on each side of the corridor, the vessel bucking and writhing unpredictably in every direction as Wash desperately tried to evade the Alliance cruiser's attacks. The Rogue and the Operative stood as one entity, locked in a mortal grip, when Wash decelerated rapidly. Inara's arms felt as though they were about to be pulled from their sockets as she held on dearly, but for the two men there was no respite from inertia. They soared forwards, the full length of the corridor as the ship stopped travelling as fast as they were, the heavy metal bulkhead rushing to greet them as they twisted in each other's grasp, trying to force the other to take the brunt of the impact.

The Rogue was the unlucky one as their inertia met the immovable object of the sheet metal at the end of the corridor and he slammed full into it, surely crushing several ribs even through his armour. He slid limply to the floor, his eyes rolling in their sockets, as the Operative unsteadily rose to his feet. Blood streamed from his nose but he was horribly aware as he stooped to pick up the blade Inara had lost to her battle with the bucking vessel. The two women backed away from him down the corridor as he slowly stalked towards them, a look of grim satisfaction in his eyes that was abruptly replaced by one of surprise as a small pair of hands gripped his shoulder and shoved him sideways into hard metal. He whirled to face the newest combatant, and the surprise deepened as he realised his aggressor was a young teenaged boy.

Cullen ducked underneath the Operative's first three strikes, easily evading the dancing blade, and then kicked hard at the man's chest. He did negligible damage due to the armour plating there but it was enough to knock the man backwards. Cullen seized upon the opening and enveloped the Operative's sword-arm, nullifying any capability of movement and squeezing sharply at his hand so it clattered harmlessly away. Another kick sent the man staggering further backwards away from Cullen and down the corridor.

In the cockpit Wash began another desperate tactic to escape the guns of the Alliance cruiser baying for their blood and barrel-rolled the vessel sharply. The entire vessel twisted to the side, the bulkhead becoming the floor, then the ceiling, followed by the opposing bulkhead. The occupants of the vessel were all scattered like pins save one – Cullen began to run forwards, moving with the momentum of the ship, planting a foot on the bulkhead and shifting his weight as needed as it became the new deck.

The Operative's blade twisted through the air, helpless against the chaotic mess gravity had become, before Cullen plucked it from limbo by the hilt and bore down upon the Operative as he tumbled along the roiling corridor. As the ceiling became the deck Cullen leapt through the air, grappling the Operative with his legs and driving the blade up through his abdomen, piercing the man's heart. As the ship righted itself and the deck returned to its original position, Cullen and the Operative landed heavily on it, the Alliance agent already dead. The young boy stood from the corpse, triggered the electrical discharge just to be sure, and nodded once in affirmation of the kill as the Operative limply twitched. He slid the sword from the body and looked to Inara and Zoe.

"It's done," he said. Inara didn't have time for an emotional reaction – she reached for the digital readout and glanced at the time remaining before the nuclear explosion.

"How long?" asked Zoe sharply. Inara didn't even reply to her, tossing her the timer and raising the radio to her lips in the same motion.

"Kaylee, are we ready!" barked the Companion. Zoe looked down. Twenty four seconds remained.

"_Yeah!"_ exclaimed the engineer. _"Engines just came back online!"_

Twenty two.

"Wash!" called Inara. There was a delay of precious seconds waiting for their pilot, returned from the dead.

Seventeen.

"_We haven't cleared the field yet!"_ he replied, the strain evident in his voice. _"The cruiser's right on top of us!"_

Fifteen.

"Get clear!" roared Inara. "Right now!"

Twelve.

"_Okay, we got a clear shot! Punching it!"_

Nine, as the engines began to whir to life painfully slowly, seven, and Inara and Zoe without thinking about it did exactly what Simon and Kaylee were doing in the engine room, five, holding onto each other desperately, four, the only thing left to do. Three. The engines grew to a crescendo. Two. The energy grew to its peak, orange light flickering from the tail of the Firefly. One.

Zero as the reactor exploded back on the asteroid, the nuclear reaction spitting forth the electromagnetic pulse across the debris field instantly for a range of two thousand kilometres. The Alliance cruiser was hit, all of its electrical systems frying within a second and beginning to drift inertly, itself become debris all in a moment. And the little Firefly before it, hit by the pulse but shielded somewhat by the vast bulk of the cruiser behind absorbing much of the radiation spat out towards them. The asteroid blew apart with monumental force, the fiery blast sending debris and shrapnel in an ever-expanding sphere in a swirl of destruction, nothing hoping to survive the shockwave.

Inside the escaping ship the deck rattled and the lights died momentarily. Inara glanced at the timer in her hands. It didn't even display zero – it had completely fried. "Kaylee! Wash!" she called into the radio, starting to run towards the engine room. The ship wasn't moving and though she couldn't see it she could somehow sense the oncoming onslaught of the shockwave heading towards them, they had maybe twenty seconds before they were all vaporised into atomic dust. Her feet barely touched the decking as she arrived at the small engineering compartment, banging at the door to be let in. Simon slid the door open and she bounded inside, barely registering Zoe behind her or the shocked, defeated looks in Kaylee's or Simon's eyes. River was looking beyond the ship, through the hull, and Inara knew she was somehow watching the incoming wave of destruction.

She whirled upon Kaylee, a mad fire in her eyes.

"Punch the engines!"

"But we don't even know if they'll work, which way we're pointin'..."

Inara turned away from Kaylee, not out of any emotion but sheer necessity, knowing that within seconds they would all be dead and couldn't wait for the girl to intellectually process what was happening.

"Which switch?" she called. She knew that there was an emergency override built into the engine that would activate them in the absence of input from the bridge. The energy might still be built up enough to make a jump, despite the pulse. But she just didn't know which one would make it happen. Here eyes danced desperately across the myriad of dials and switches and buttons that comprised the engine room, when she saw River's hand extended, pointing to one in particular as her eyes still watched the incoming storm.

Inara's hand flew forward and depressed the lever River was pointing to. Energy thrummed through the engine room and outside, orange energy spiked from the tail of the ship just as the shockwave began to engulf the cruiser just behind them, tearing through the hull as if it were paper and adding more debris to the force of the explosion. The Firefly burst forward just as the shockwave hit it, catapulting through space, miraculously not hitting any of the debris in front of it but traumatised by the brief exposure to the nuclear blast.

If Wash's evasive manoeuvres had seemed rough before they were nothing now. Sparks flew from all around them and every member of the crew was bombarded by gravity, slamming into every bulkhead that surrounded them. Fire sprung from the engine and all of the power died – the lights, the hum of the engine – nothing was left except a vague feeling of inertia.

And after the onslaught, after what felt like an eternity, it was still and silent. The ship was dead again, but they had made it.

Inara rose shakily to her feet. "Everyone okay?" she asked in a quivering voice. A chorus of pained affirmatives met her enquiry. She staggered from the engine room, through the mess hall and up towards the bridge. Zoe followed her after a moment.

Mal and Jayne were still there, shaken about but still breathing. She rolled Mal onto his back and gently prodded his chest.

"Mal," she muttered. "Come on, Mal."

Slowly the Captain moaned, and a minute later he slowly opened his eyes, blinking groggily. Inara smiled.

"_Now_ he wakes up."

Mal squinted against the pain in his head. "Ugh...report," he said.

"We're in pieces," said Zoe. "We got wounded, and we're driftin' through space in a crippled ship. But we got away."

"We got..." muttered Mal, and then he smiled, an expression of grim satisfaction. He clambered to his feet with the assistance of his first mate and Inara. "We got away, huh?"

"Sure did," said Inara, a small smile of her own playing over her lips.

"Orders, Cap'n?" asked Zoe.

Mal looked thoughtfully away into the middle distance. The odds were stacked against them. An interplanetary government wanted them dead, their ship was devastated and their closest ally was their retired worst enemy. The Captain took in all of this, finally free from the Project that had engineered all of their actions for so long – that had subjected them to the whim of shadowy players in order to discredit their names for the sake of solidifying their power and control. They had betrayed one another, and others had died for even having known Mal and the others briefly. Daniel Andrews, their temporary pilot, who had died to save them, had bled out in Mal's arms not twenty paces from where he stood now. And whatever the Alliance had done on Paquin – releasing those things, those Night Crawlers on the population just to make them so scared they'd go running to the Alliance for help – who knew how many were dead.

The Captain looked up, meeting the expectant gaze of his two crew.

"Now we start a Nightmare of our own. One we make 'specially for the Alliance. And they ain't gonna want to sleep with the lights off when we're through with them."

Slowly, the little Firefly drifted, powerless but not without purpose, back towards inhabited space, contained within it all of the elements needed to mount a new resistance against the oppressive regime of the Alliance. A skilled doctor who had begun to learn the art of death. A talented engineer, now recovered from the plague inflicted upon her. A synthetic human manufactured by the government, ready to be turned against its creators. A fallen Companion, within her the capability to be truly powerful. A veteran soldier, still grieving the loss of her husband but burning with the resolve to make a difference. A selfish mercenary who had started to learn the difference between right and wrong. A renegade Operative who had started down his road their enemy but now might be the key to their success. A young girl, twisted by the Alliance but human enough to contain her programming. A young boy who no one came to save, his humanity perhaps forever lost beneath that same programming.

And led by their Captain, who had for so long smothered the embers of revolution within him, but pushed to the brink by his old enemies. He did not know how this would end, but he knew enough that it would be would be to the death, and that he would see the Alliance brought to its knees.

Slowly, the Firefly drifted. And on board they began to plan the end of the world.

_Author's Note:_

_So, got there in the end, didn't we? Apologies for the long gaps between publications. I always saw this as a trilogy of stories, starting with Void, continuing with Nightmare, and concluding in what I was calling New Dawn before I realised it sounded like a Twilight novel. I still don't know what it's going to be called, but I've started it, so whack an author alert on me if you want to get notified when I publish it - which will be some time this year I hope!_

_Thanks all for reading.  
_


End file.
